


A Little Bit Delirious (Rewrite)

by skipper



Series: the time they warned us (but i didn't listen) [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Blood and Violence, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt Harry Styles, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skipper/pseuds/skipper
Summary: He knows it’s coming before it happens. The changes are initially slow, making the fear and dread suffocate each moment they have left. He tries to pretend, to hold onto whatever they have left, but even those pieces fall away, revealing only emptiness in their wake.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s), Louis Tomlinson/Original Male Character(s)
Series: the time they warned us (but i didn't listen) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/21816
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite with a final epilogue included from my original fic. It's fully edited and set in 2012 and started out as canon, but obviously diverted to create my own story for Harry and Louis. I still hope you enjoy it. Thanks.

It starts when Louis stops sleeping in their bed, choosing his room across the hall. Whispered excuses and tainted reasoning leaves Harry struggling to understand what he was doing wrong. For many nights, he lay awake at night, hands trembling at his sides, ultimately fearing the impending nightmares without Louis by his side.

Then he stops touching Harry, not just affection and doting the way he used to, but doesn’t touch him at all. They don’t hold hands. There are no tangled fingers beneath the table or Louis’ firm grip on Harry’s thigh when Harry’s calm enough to let him. At first, Harry thinks that Louis is just going through a phase, but when Louis goes out one night and doesn’t tell Harry, he knows he isn’t.

Harry thinks he can handle it, whatever it is that Louis needs, because this is Lou, _his Lou_ , and they’ll make it through anything. When Liam comes to him one day, asking if he’s all right, Harry knows it’s not just his insecurities shining through the interactions. Louis has changed, and for the first time, Harry’s not aware of it.

Harry doesn’t know how to prepare, unable to be ready for how long it takes Louis to gain the courage, and it's weeks of them teetering on the edge of something Harry doesn’t want to face. He comes down for breakfast one morning, well before lunchtime. It’s the first Harry’s seen him before noon in days.

The confirmation that this is ending is overwhelming. Harry knows now what’s happening, or, at least, he thinks he does. But still, Harry drowns in his vomit-induced tears and leaves their home before Louis has the chance to say what he needs to. Harry can’t let it happen like this.

Louis quickly becomes agitated, stating several times that they need to talk. Harry goes to Liam and Niall, staying at their flats in his determination to avoid the inevitable. He can’t handle the thoughts, the acknowledgment that it’s his fault, that he’s done something wrong. The truth is right there. Louis doesn’t want him anymore.


	2. Part One

Harry wakes one morning, lying in Liam’s guest bedroom, but he isn’t alone. His eyes widen as he realizes Louis is sitting on the edge of the bed. His head is in his hands, just waiting. He’s waiting for Harry to stop sleeping, all he’s been doing lately. Harry trembles and wants to pretend he’s still asleep, but after more than two years together, Louis knows his sounds better than that.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs in that voice Harry loves so much. His hand finds Harry’s naked form, his fingers gripping the long slender fingers, but Harry doesn’t reciprocate the touch. He shakes his head instead, unwilling to accept what Louis is trying to say, fearing the depth of it. It hurts already, just knowing it’s happening, but Harry continues to refuse the inevitable.

“Don’t do this,” he manages to say, trying to stay calm, but there’s no point. His tears are already falling. “Lou, Louis, _please_ ,” he whispers, his voice echoing how broken he feels inside.

“I have to,” Louis says quietly, letting go of his hand. Harry wishes now that he’d held his too, for one last time. Louis stands with a face void of emotion, and Harry shrinks back, unable to mask his feelings with the unfamiliar gaze.

“Why?” Harry manages to ask. Louis stares, unwilling to answer, and Harry feels himself grow angry, “why are you throwing me away? I _love_ you. So much.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Haz,” he sighs. “I’m staying at Zayn’s for now… he knows what’s going on, I told him.”

“You told him!” Harry cries out, realizing that their friends know. If Zayn knows, then the others do, too. The relationship they’d kept hidden for these past years is suddenly gone, not even a secret he could keep tucked away with Louis’ departure.

“Yeah, yes,” Louis responds cordially, but he’s speaking slowly to Harry, carefully choosing each word he said aloud. He leans against the dresser beside the door, his arms crossing over his chest.

“It’s not like they didn’t have suspicions, Harry.” He says his name, almost patronizing, and Harry swallows harshly at the sound. This Louis isn’t his, the one he held tightly to his chest for so long. He doesn’t like this type of Louis.

“Then why are you doing this?” Harry asks again, feeling like a small child as he sought to hear Louis’ answer. The older boy drops his head, his gaze lingering on the floor. He speaks, his voice catching, and Harry recognizes the guilt remaining there.

“I can’t hide anymore,” Louis finally speaks, and it’s a millennia before Harry can comprehend his implication. “I can’t pretend that we’re a big secret. I had to tell them, and I know you hate me for it now.”

“I’ll never hate you,” Harry whispers, though he still has to swallow the bile at the knowledge that everyone might know his secret. His body is unsteady, and he wonders if he’s going to pass out from the weight of the conversation. It’s already pressing against his chest, causing him to struggle to breathe. He wants to focus on Louis, the most crucial part, but everyone knows their secret, his secret.

“It’s just for now,” Louis continues, his head lifting to meet Harry’s gaze, his eyes boring into his worried orbs. “Look, after everything calms down and you’re ready,” Louis says softly, and Harry nods, searching for more, but Louis can’t finish.

“Please,” Harry whispers, the words catching in his throat. Louis moves as if he’s going to leave, and Harry feels he’s going to fall apart, the tiny pieces of an image that Louis has already shattered, “don’t do this, not now.”

“I have to,” Louis murmurs. His voice is low, and Harry knows it isn’t like his own despite the hurt in the sound. Louis has never been like him, and deep down, he knows that’s better. No one should hurt as it does, the daily struggles and fights to stay focused. But Harry’s always had Louis to ground him, hold steady when he reeled off course.

Louis opens the door, and Harry can only stare, the tears slipping down his cheeks one by one, steadily moving faster and faster. He wipes at them furiously, and suddenly, his stepfather’s words are lingering in the back of his mind. Harry hates how disgusting it feels. He hears others' voices, and suddenly, the knowledge that they all know climbs into his throat. Harry rushes to the connected bathroom, releasing every hate he’d inflicted upon himself over the years.

Harry doesn’t say a word to the boys when he finally leaves the confines of Liam’s guest room. They’re sitting in the living room, all watching him, but he can’t acknowledge the disgust he’s sure they feel. Frozen and staring for a moment, everything lingering in the air with the distaste he feels, but no words can escape. He won’t dare speak and hear the confirmation of what he already knows. Louis is gone, and he can’t imagine anything worse at that moment.

He leaves, going to the only place he knows is a haven—his home. Harry stumbles into the flat, his legs trembling at the sight of Louis’ belongings, boxed and packed beside the door. There’s a sound filling his ears, and it’s him, he realizes. Harry falls to the floor, his body tumbling inside himself as Louis exits a far room.

Louis stops with his gaze on Harry, wondering if he should approach. He doesn’t, and Harry finds himself relieved. As much as Harry wants Louis again, he doesn’t want his pity. He feels so angry with the boy who’s throwing everything away, every touch they’d shared, and every intimate moment blackened in Harry’s memory.

"Is there someone else?" Harry manages to croak from his place on the floor. He seeks an answer, but Louis is already gone, the slam of the front door echoing in Harry's mind. Once again, just a small child would. He barely climbs to his feet and wobbles down the hall. Harry enters his bedroom, feeling much younger than his eighteen years, and can't figure out what he did wrong.

Harry sits, crouched on the floor, silently awaiting Louis' return, because he has to come back. This ending can’t be it. Despite the feeling it was coming, it somehow doesn't feel that way. Everything inside him feels shattered, a million pieces scattered where he can't pick them up. He needs Louis unlike he’s needed him before, but he isn’t there. Harry has no one.

It's nighttime by the time someone enters the apartment. Harry feels a rush in his bloodstream, sent right to his pounding heart. He stands, oblivious to the pins and needles filling his lower extremities. His only thought is Louis and that he's back, and they can fix this. Whatever it is, it's not broken.

Harry leaves his room, his face falling at the sight that awaits him at the front door. It's not Louis, but Liam is standing there. Harry feels petrified, knowing what Liam knows now. Louis has revealed Harry's darkest secret without his consent. Harry stares at his feet, fighting the urge to flinch in Liam’s presence. It would only show weakness.

It feels like the beginning all over again, when Louis knew about himself, but Harry didn't want to admit he was the same. He felt the shame and irrefutable level of disgust that lingered throughout his skin. He remembers the days and nights he ached to end, and now, it’s starting all over again.

Harry feels dirty; his body caking with filth that clutters his mind. He could wash, but it would only worsen the sensation as it had for so long before meeting Louis. Those vile words from memory were once again evident in his mind, and he shivers, despite the unmoving presence before him. Harry dares to raise his eyes but can’t meet Liam's gaze.

"Harry," Liam speaks, and Harry feels his balance waver. He hasn’t been eating lately, and it is steadily growing on him. He feels his fingers trembling at his side, and Harry knows how much he needs his friend, but the terrifying feeling within him won’t waver. It won’t let him accept the presence before him.

"Please," Harry manages to whisper, feeling himself break apart. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, holding in the urge to cry. Ordinarily, Harry might’ve laughed, just to rid himself of the tears, but he can’t. He can’t even remember the sound of laughter, not over the ache in his chest.

"Are you okay?" It’s an easy question to answer. He can do that. So, Harry shakes his head but sucks in a breath at the sound of the front door, eyes immediately searching for his lost Louis.

Liam instantly turns his gaze at Louis as he steps through the door, inside Harry’s flat once again. His eyes grow wide with surprise, and Harry feels himself grow cold. He’s never felt that with Louis before, but he doesn’t know him anymore. He always thought that Louis would never hurt him, but the boy right in front of him hadn't expected to see him. That much was clear.

"I'm here for my stuff," Louis states lifelessly, speaking in a tone that Harry doesn’t recognize. It’s short and clipped, and it weighs differently in Harry’s mind. Harry moves towards the older boy, his eyes immediately searching and finding him. Louis is hesitant, but something pulls Harry in.

When space between their bodies finally closes, Harry feels his chest ease, everything fading into the boy he loves so much. The past months of falling apart are nonexistent until that moment when Louis begins to pull away. Harry shakes his head, pulling him closer, his fists tightening into Louis' shirt.

"No," Louis says, voice short and clipped again, but Harry can’t hear him over the pounding of his heart. He shakes his head, his face falling into the crook of Louis' neck, as he fights to breathe in as much as he can. Harry needs to feel him again, needing so much that Louis hasn't given him. He needs everything.

"Lou," Harry whispers desperately, but Louis still pulls himself from Harry. He stumbles backward, denied once again, and he turns around to meet another's arms. It’s not the boy he wants, but a comfort he needs despite the repercussions.

"What are you doing here?" Harry feels Liam's rumbled speaking, deep in his chest, but it doesn’t present the calm it always had with Louis. Everything is different now, and Harry feels unable to handle it all. He listens intently as Louis stutters but knows it’s because of Liam, not him.

Harry pulls back after far too much silence, but he realizes that Louis is gone upon lifting his head. He turns to face Liam, wiping the tears from his cheeks, but Liam only shakes his head. Harry steps away, tearing his eyes from the scene at hand, but they immediately fall on the boxes at his side, a pile smaller than it was moments ago. That’s why Louis came back, he realizes.

“Harry,” Liam says softly. His hand reaches for Harry’s arm but immediately retracts it. Louis isn’t here to distract Liam, and Harry can’t handle hearing the words that linger daily in the back of his mind. He can’t bear to know that everyone else thinks the same as he thinks of himself.

“Don’t say it,” Harry murmurs, shaking his head. Liam furrows his brow, but his hand continues to reach, his fingers eventually clasping around Harry’s forearm.

“We’re here,” Liam says softly, his fingers tightening as he speaks, “me and the others, we’re here for you.” Harry shakes his head, not comprehending the words.

“When did he tell you?” Harry whispers, daring to raise his eyes. Liam stares intently, his mind working, and it takes him several long moments to answer.

“Last week, after the final show,” Liam responds, hesitating. Harry continues to stare, and Liam clears his throat, dropping his gaze. “Well, he told Zayn…and Zayn told us.”

“Does anyone else know?” Harry whispers, trying to keep his voice soft, but can still hear the desperation of fear from the revelation of it all.

“No,” Liam shook his head, “I didn’t tell anyone.” Harry nods, unable to emit any other response. He opens his mouth, but Liam answers his silent question, “and I won’t. No one will know.”

Harry swallows thickly, his eyes flickering around the room, landing on every memory of Louis. The apartment is full of Louis, his entire being, and suddenly Harry feels as though he’s been swallowed entirely by another. There’s no escape, and the one person he ever ran to is gone. He’s not only lost his only love but his best friend, his other half.

He opens his mouth to get Liam to leave, but instead, a strangled sob escapes his throat. He immediately covers his mouth with his hand, cringing at how he sounds. He closes his eyes tight, dropping to the floor, his hand coming to wrap around his knees.

“Harry,” Liam whispers, much too close, and Harry pulls away quickly, falling on his backside in his hurry. “Come stay with me,” he urges, but Harry shakes his head, refusing the offer. “Please,” he says, “get away from here. Or maybe go to your mum’s?”

“No,” Harry says immediately, too quickly as he understands that Liam doesn’t know. Louis would right away, but he’s not here anymore. He feels bitter tears fill his eyes and leans back, his head falling against the edge of the couch. The blanket hanging over the edge smells of Louis, and Harry can’t help but take in a deep breath.

“Please,” Liam says again. Harry opens his eyes and turns towards him, his gaze flickering at the pile of boxes behind him, and slowly nods.

“Li,” Harry whispers, finding his voice. He can hear how weak he sounds and feels the shame rise repeatedly as he meets Liam’s eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits softly. Liam nods and pulls Harry into his side, his hand easing Harry’s head against his shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” Liam says quickly, but Harry can hear unsure he sounds. “Come on, then,” Liam urges, helping Harry stand. Harry walks forward on his own, grabbing his keys from the table, next to Louis’ spot, he thinks.

When they reach Liam’s apartment, Harry walks in, but stops at the entrance, surprised to see the others still sitting around Liam’s living room. He stares at the floor, unsure what to say, how to appease everything they must be feeling.

“So, you and Louis,” Niall speak up. Harry lifts his gaze quickly, a gasp escaping his lips as his body grows rigid. Harry watches as Zayn slaps the back of his head, where Niall looks surprised. Harry feels his face flush, knowing the eyes are watching him and his reaction.

“Yeah,” he finally murmurs weakly. “But not anymore,” he finishes, barely able to say it aloud, “So you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Are you okay?” Zayn asks. Harry shrugs, feeling oddly numb despite his breakdown in front of Liam not long before.

“I’ll make some tea,” Liam says gently. Harry shakes his head, but Liam is already in the kitchen, the kettle's noises and mugs apparent. He looks back towards the edge of the living room, where he still stands, and he feels his heart pound in anticipation.

“You wanna sit?” Zayn asks, and Harry can tell by his voice how unsure he is.

Harry immediately shakes his head, unable to feel comfortable in his presence. Louis is with him, living in his flat, and Harry aches to know it all. He wants to know how Louis ousted their secret to Zayn, how he revealed the most intimate details of his private life. The very thought of it causes fear to rise within him, and Harry suddenly feels nauseous.

Harry only has a moment of a decision before he runs, his body falling to the floor in the bathroom just moments before the bile leaves his lips. A little gets on the floor, but Harry doesn’t think of it. Hot tears fall down his cheeks, and he can feel his fingers trembling against the side of the porcelain bowl.

His chest heaves with each retraction of his throat and stomach. He can’t breathe, can’t take in the oxygen he needs. Tears drip from his eyes as pain fills each of his limbs, his body wracking and quivering with each extended movement, but he can’t calm. Harry doesn’t have anyone to hide behind anymore. He feels utterly exposed and doesn’t know if there’s a way to hide anymore.

He begins to breathe again, and there’s a sudden touch on his back, and Harry can’t help but recoil from the sensation. He doesn’t know who it is, and he falls back, the fear crushing him until he’s fetal and trembling on the floor. Harry knows a voice is speaking, it’s familiar, but can’t find it in him to respond. His hands fall over his ears, and he hums, he hums Louis’ song, the only one he knows in those fateful moments.

Time begins to pass, maybe seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, but there’s no one touching him, no one recoiling in fear of what he might be. Harry stays by himself, humming the song with the remnants of bile crusting his lips. It’s gross and disgusting, but for once, it matches how he feels inside, and he’s oddly okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and constructive criticism are wonderful. Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it.


	3. Part Two

When Harry’s eyes finally open, he notes the light is off and knows they called Louis, the only way they would’ve known. Harry stares at the shut door through the darkness, more time passing, but he’s calm. At least for now. He isn’t thinking of the awful day and the shame and fear. He’s thoughtless, safe inside the darkness that surrounds him.

He moves his hand from where he’s lying on the bathroom floor, his fingers brushing his lips, and remembers he needs to clean up and wash himself off. He reaches to flush the toilet but stops himself, fearing the noise. Instead, he turns, blindly going for the sink while still on his knees. He doesn’t want to stand.

The sound of the rushing faucet hurts his ears, and Harry barely wipes his face before turning it off with relief. He is returning to that boy he was three years before, hating the feeling, but he doesn’t know how to escape. Guarding himself, he’s carefully hidden for so long. He doesn’t know how to exist on his own anymore, without Louis.

Harry hears the voices before the first knock on the door sounds. It’s soft, but it shakes Harry’s interior, and he knows he can’t hide anymore. He doesn’t stand but sits back on his behind, his knees curling to his chest, and he wraps his arms around them for safety, unsure what is to happen when the door’s opened.

When no one speaks, and Harry knows someone’s still there, he finally moves. He moves at his own pace, slowly crawling towards the door, feeling like a scolded child as he opens it, the crack of light uncomfortable. He squints as it falls open, his bottom lip coming between his teeth as he eyes Liam on the floor, sitting Indian style before the door.

“What’s going on?” he whispers, as though afraid to speak louder. Harry realizes he’s probably scared of frightening him, and a blush fills his cheeks at the thought of how he’d faded into a ball before.

Liam continues to stare at him, pointedly, and Harry drops his gaze into his lap. His hands are shaking again, and he can’t speak, can’t tell him the truth. His brain flickers as he searches for a lie, but none equivocate the fact of what he is. Harry bites harder on his lip, but not even the sweet release of blood can ease him from Liam’s unwavering gaze.

“I’m tired,” Harry finally speaks, barely easing his lip from his teeth before pulling it back in again. Liam stares for several moments before nodding. He stands, and his hand reaches for Harry, who’s yet to move. Harry tentatively accepts but pulls away as soon as he balances on his own, one arm against the door's rough exterior.

Harry follows Liam down the hall but stops where Liam’s headed, realizes he’s going to where it happened. He can’t be in the room, where his last moments with Louis tainted with his departure. Harry closes his eyes tight, but a sudden sob escapes him before there’s a way to stop it. He feels so weak and vulnerable, his head falling forward, and he once again accepts Liam’s embrace.

The arms that wrap around him are careful and unsure, but Harry’s body just falls into him, following him as Liam eases them back to the floor. Harry can hear each noise echoing the walls, causing his chest to tighten further, his body aching in pain. Everything is falling apart, and he doesn’t know how to hold it together anymore. His glue is gone. Louis is gone.

He falls backward, and Liam’s hands linger on Harry’s biceps as he leans up to face the older boy. Harry’s eyes are wet and dripping with desperate tears, but he doesn’t pull away. The ache in his stomach grows more forceful, and one hand covers his mouth as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“What-” he gasps. Liam tries to silence him, but Harry still asks the question that’s lingered the entire day, “what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Liam states evenly, but even Harry sees the questions in his eyes. He doesn’t know any more than anyone else does.

“Then, why?” Harry manages to ask, but Liam only shakes his head, unable to answer. Harry’s sobs are slowing, and Liam pulls him up, holding him against his more muscular frame. But instead of going to the guest room, he leads him back towards the living room. The others are still there but move aside as he leads Harry towards the couch.

Harry’s eyes fall shut as he hits the soft cushions, his body immediately curling into himself. He’s revealing more of himself than he can bear to, but even with that knowledge, there is no escaping it. He can’t escape the pain. He’s still holding onto the hope that these guys are his friends, and they’re going to stay his friends. Though it’s lingering weakly inside him, the hope is still there.

“Should we go?” Harry hears Niall ask. Harry opens his eyes, searching, but finds the others by the door, and his hands curl around the blanket that’s lying over him.

“No,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse, but they hear him. Niall nods and comes over and sits down by his head, the cushions dipping as he does so. His fingers immediately find Harry’s curls, causing the young boy’s eyes to close once again, and he finally drifts into a restless sleep, wary of what the rest of the night might bring.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, aware that the others are still awake, speaking of him. Harry tries each time to listen, but deep down, he can’t tolerate their words. He fights against everything inside him, the fear so strong, but his exhaustion taking hold every time. He wants so badly to know that he hasn’t lost everyone with Louis, but with Louis gone, he has so little trust in that.

At their last interview, just weeks before, even aware of his dwindling relationship, Harry could still remember how to joke, laugh, and play with them. Now it seems such a distant dream. There’s no smile on the edge of his lips; he can’t even pretend. Harry feels the tears fall from his closed lids as he drifts yet again, but doesn’t bother to hide them. He lets them fall. They’re all he has left.

When Harry wakes, Niall is still there, his fingers tangled in his curls as he sleeps soundly beside him. Harry thinks of moving, but there’s no reason to turn away. He stares ahead, his eyes on the lifeless television screen, trying to ease his head off his panicked thoughts.

After a while, he finds his phone in his pocket and slowly pulls it out. It’s surprisingly, not dead. He can’t remember the last time he charged it, let alone picked it up. He eases himself from Niall’s grip to sit up, his heart pounding in his chest as he searches for the only number he wants to dial.

He brings the phone to his ear after pushing the send button, listening to the quiet ringing. He feels like he can’t breathe as he waits in anticipation. Harry needs to hear his voice and understand why this is happening to him. Maybe he could do something different. They could work on it. It doesn’t have to be over.

“’ Ello,” Harry’s voice catches as Louis’ sleepy one answers. He opens his mouth to speak, and he hears Louis clearing his throat, and Harry knows he’s moving to sit up from wherever he’d been laying.

“Lou,” Harry manages to breathe. Any more words stuck in his throat, and he struggles to keep Louis on the phone. He doesn’t want him to hang up.

“Harry?” Louis questions, and Harry quickly nods, biting his lip desperately. He releases a soft gasp, and he can hear Louis breathe slow, in and out, in and out, and Harry wants nothing more than to feel his breath against his skin.

“Yeah,” Harry finally answers. He doesn’t say more, only wanting to hear Louis’ voice. “Where are you?” he manages to ask, though he fears the answer.

“I told you where,” Louis responds, but his voice is no longer soft but filled with annoyance. Harry cringes at the sound, unknowingly leaning into the boy beside him. He feels the arm wrap around him, and he looks in surprise to see Niall awake and watching him closely.

“Can I see you?” Harry whispers, and Louis sighs, and Harry’s eyes close tightly. He already knows his answer. His free hand trembles against his leg as his eyes grow wet behind the closed lids.

“I don’t think so,” Louis responds. He speaks slowly, almost condescendingly. Harry feels like the child in their relationship, or lack of one now. Louis was always the older and wiser, he taught Harry, shielded him, helped him, opened his eyes to everything, but now he only saw the heartbreak.

“Lou-” he starts to speak, but Louis cuts him off. His body shudders at the harsh sound of Louis’ breathing, and he knows instantly he’s made him angry. His body curls into itself with that realization.

“Harry,” Louis says evenly, “we’ve got a break right now. I’m not going to see you again until it’s over.” Harry opens his mouth to argue, but he can’t, “just take this month, and we’ll be friends when I get back, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry speaks, only because Louis said it first. Louis hasn’t given him any of the answers he’s searching for, and he suddenly realizes he doesn’t know if he’s going to find them. He hears the beep as the call disconnects, and he slowly drops his hand from his ear, the mobile slipping to the floor through his weak fingers.

Harry turns to face Niall, his eyes opening to meet his friend, staring through his teary eyes, unwilling to let them fall. Niall gives him a small nod, but Harry doesn’t know what it means. He feels the arm around him, but he’s suddenly crowded and can’t take the gesture. Niall pulls away almost instantly, as though he might’ve known, and Harry begins to calm again.

“We’ll figure it out,” Niall says softly. Harry nods and drops his gaze, unsure of what’s to come. He hears the distinct sound of Niall’s breath sucking in, and Harry knows there’s more. His eyes shift away, sharp and pointed as he waits to hear what he’s going to say.

“What is it?” Harry whispers, feeling angry in those moments, but he can’t state why.

“Louis talked to us last night,” Niall spoke hesitantly, and Harry realizes he shouldn’t hear any of this. His chest hurts at the thought that Louis was so close yet didn’t come to see him. “When you were in the toilet,” he continues, “screaming.” Harry sucks in a breath, he doesn’t remember that part, but then again, he never does.

“What’d he say?” Harry manages to whisper, but even he can’t hear the words that leave his lips. Niall continues to stare with wide eyes, as though gauging Harry’s reaction. Harry shifts back on the couch, needing more space, and Niall doesn’t move. “Ni-”

“We don’t hate you, Harry,” he says gently, “you know, for being ga-”

“No,” Harry says sharply.

“Harr-”

“No!” Harry cries out and quickly stands. “I’m not, I’m not,” he sputters, his voice louder than he intends, and he quickly shakes his head.

“Okay, okay,” Niall holds up his hands in surrender but doesn’t stand. Harry takes a step backward but runs into a body. Hands grip his hips, and he trembles, pulling from the touch instantly. His palms press into his eyes as he continues to move, the soft mumbles of repeated “no” escaping his lips.

He hears the voices but can’t listen to them. Harry’s fading into everything he hates, everything he despises about himself. Now they all know, they know the worst things about him, things he’d never even told Louis. They could see every mark on him, every word branded into his skin. When he passes out, Harry finally feels calm, welcoming the fade into darkness.

When Harry opens his eyes, he’s in a bed, a blanket pulled up to his nose, and he’s not sure where he is. He looks around carefully, slowly lifting his head to see the room. After a few moments, eyeing each of the particles of clothing on the floor, he realizes he’s in Liam’s room.

Harry moves to sit up, the blanket pooling in his lap as his arms stretched above his head. He slept, really slept, and he doesn’t know what time it is or how long he’s been out. Glancing at his wrist, slowly realizing his watch is missing, Harry pats his pocket, and his phone is too. He feels his pants a second time, this time looking, and he sees he’s not in the same clothes, the fabric unfamiliar to him.

Looking back to the crumpled clothing on the floor, he recognizes his clothes and sums up he must be wearing Liam’s pants. Harry remembers his last few moments before passing out with a flush of his cheeks, lingering embarrassment left behind. They weren’t to see him like that, only Louis ever had before, and it terrifies him.

Harry knows he needs to go home; he can’t stay in Liam’s flat any longer. He’s a burden now, the last thing he ever wants to be. Just as he’s thinking about getting up, the door opens, revealing Niall and then Liam right behind him. They shut the door and sit on the end of the bed, their eyes filled with hesitation.

“I’m going to go home,” Harry states before they can speak. “I’m sorry,” he finishes quickly, not able to meet either boy’s gaze.

“Home to your mum’s?” Liam asks, his voice brightening, “You never go there.” Harry quickly shakes his head, unable to hide his shudder from the mere suggestion.

“No,” Harry mumbles, opening his eyes release the memories. Both Liam and Niall eye him curiously, but Harry doesn’t answer their questions. He never will. “To my flat,” he says softly.

“You can stay here,” Liam tries, but Harry shakes his head. There’s no reason for him to stay there. He needs to be alone. It’s what he wants.

“How long was I sleeping?” Harry asks softly.

“Roundabout twelve hours, I’d say,” Liam answers with a shrug. Harry nods and shifts towards the edge of the bed, ready to leave. “Your phone and keys are on the dresser,” he responds when Harry starts glancing around. Harry looks to the boys still on the bed after he stands, but can’t find anything else to say.

Liam gives him a ride, and when he steps inside his flat, Harry spots the space that once held Louis’ boxes. It’s empty now, and Harry realizes how alone he is now. There’s no one to cuddle or protect him anymore. Louis left, using his career as an excuse, but Harry knows it’s so much more than that. He couldn’t handle Harry anymore, and deep down, Harry knows he never should’ve expected him to.

It’s dark when Harry wakes, uncertain of his precise location inside the flat. He doesn’t open his eyes but can feel the darkness surrounding him inside his flat. His limbs feel heavy, and it takes several tries for him to move his fingers. He isn’t hurt, only weak and unbearably alone. He suddenly regrets leaving Liam's but knows he couldn't stay around them any longer.

Once Harry finds the urge to sit up, he cringes at his damp shorts, realizing it had happened again. It's been nearly two years, but it is starting once again, only this time Louis isn’t there to clean him up. His chest tightens at the thought of Louis, and he holds in the urge to cry, knowing he's shed too many tears already. He isn’t a pussy, he isn’t, but he feels so helpless.

He looks around, taking in his surroundings, and he shifts from his place on the hard floor towards the carpet. He’s near the kitchen but has no memory of getting there. Harry quickly understands he must've had another episode, but he isn’t used to being alone yet. He is never alone, never has been. He savored that, but now he doesn’t know how to get it back.

With a resigned sigh, Harry lays back down, reluctant to move from his spot. He closes his eyes, willing himself back to sleep. There is no point in getting up. There’s nothing to open his eyes for, no one waiting for him. No one wants him. The one person who left him left him and told everyone what he desperately holds dear.

Without holding back any longer, the tears begin to fall, and Harry starts to sob openly. The sounds are loud, each echo causing him to curl further into himself, as though he can pretend it isn’t real. His body aches for Louis, unlike he's ever hurt for someone before. He's known a lot of pain in his life, but nothing like this, not from the one person he trusted.

His lungs heave, his stomach clenching with each cry that leaves his throat. His fists curl so tightly, he can feel his worn nails deep against his palm, but he doesn’t pull back. He cries until he can’t breathe until he can only hyperventilate, his head full and dizzy, and it slowly eases him back asleep.


	4. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to cutting here, but it's the only place in the story.

Days pass, each like the first. Harry would wake, realize the truth, and begin to hurt all over again. He'd break down, cry himself back to sleep. Harry doesn’t eat and doesn’t drink, barely moves from his spot. His nightmares grow more frequent, but he doesn’t wash. There isn’t a reason to. His reason for everything is gone, taking the very life Harry had built with him.

He feels sick, absolutely disgusted with himself, but can’t find a reason to move. Harry can hear all the voices in the back of his head, reminding him why he’s this way. Louis always comes to mind; his endless hope squandered the moment he started pulling away. Deep down, Harry doesn’t understand; he doesn’t. If they were good for so long, why did it suddenly change? What did he do to make Louis turn from him?

Harry wakes at the pounding on his front door, not the first time he's heard it, but this time it’s much louder than before. He lifts his head, slowly opening his eyes, but doesn’t bother to answer. Closing his eyes once again, Harry feels the sleep looming, but this time the door opens. He hears the voices but doesn’t bother to make out the sounds, blocking them out with the profound exhaustion he feels.

“Harry!” He forces his eyes open, shock on his features at the sound of his voice, the one he’s been holding onto so dear. He lifts his head, feeling dizzy from the slight movements, but Louis is crouching over him, his hands moving to Harry’s arms.

“Lou,” Harry whispers but can barely speak the words through his dried out throat. He wants to smile but realizes with a single look that Louis not happy or relieved. He’s very, very angry.

“You stupid bastard,” Louis mumbles, his arms are pulling Harry to stand. Harry knows the others are there but refuses to remove his eyes from Louis. “I knew you would do this,” Louis continues to mumble, but Harry only recognizes that he’s in Louis’ arms once again. Louis will fix him, just as he did before, just as he always has.

“I’m exhausted,” Harry whispers after taking just a few steps. His legs feel weak and shaky, and when Louis’ grip tightens, Harry isn’t worried anymore. The fear he’s been feeling for days, the never-ending shame, ends while he’s in Louis’ hold. “Let’s go to bed,” Harry says softly, his eyes closing, and his head falls against Louis’ shoulder.

“No, no,” Louis urges, but Harry doesn’t open his eyes until Louis shakes him roughly. Harry staggers as Louis turns his body, his hands gripping Harry’s arms, shaking him rapidly. “Look at yourself, you bastard,” Louis yells, he screams in Harry’s face. Harry stares with wide eyes, unable to respond.

“Lou, stop,” Liam speaks up, but Harry doesn’t move his gaze from Louis. His lips parted in surprise, his wide green eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“No, I can’t do this anymore,” Louis cries out, his hands tightening their hold, and Harry can feel each definition of his fingers, but he doesn’t wince from the pain. Liam moves closer, but Harry’s back is against the wall, Louis holding him crudely against the surface before he can reach.

Harry begins to tremble, his eyes closing tight as he struggles to hum, to hold out the noise. The strong hands holding his body release, and he drops to the floor, his hands lifeless as he crawls back towards his darkness. He can’t find it, though, not over the sound of Liam’s voice.

“Why would you do that?” Liam speaks sternly, and though Harry knows it’s not towards him, he can’t help but curl away at the volume.

“Look at him,” Louis yells back. “He’s a fucking child, Liam. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stand there and pretend everything’s okay because it’s not. He’s not okay. He’s not been okay in a long fucking time, but you all were too stupid to notice.”

“So you think throwing him into the wall is the bloody answer?” Liam speaks eerily calm, and Harry opens his eyes at the sound. His eyes lift, and he glances to see Niall and Zayn watching the scene unfold. He wishes they would all leave him and Louis alone.

“You don’t have a fucking clue,” Louis seethes. He shoves past Liam, and Harry wraps his arms tightly around his legs when Liam nearly steps on him. Louis stares angrily at the group, almost turning to leave before he turns back towards Harry.

The room is deathly silent as Louis again picks up Harry, ignoring his whispers as Louis leads him towards the bathroom. Harry watches him, as though he’s a ghost, each of his actions so familiar, but again, it’s not the same boy standing before him. Louis is changing, shifting into a person Harry doesn’t understand anymore, and it scares him.

Harry gets into the shower that Louis turned on. The door shuts behind him, and he’s under the warm sprays for a few moments before he hears the door slam. Harry knows that Louis is gone. He left him again. Harry closes his eyes and finally washes, completing the work that Louis always did, as though he was still there with him.

When Harry leaves the confines of the shower, his skin is prickly, and he presses the molded fingers against his bare stomach, feeling the drops of water against them. He doesn’t bother to dry as he steps towards the mirror, the fog keeping him from seeing himself clearly, but he thinks it's better this way. He can almost allude that there’s nothing despicable there.

With a heavy sigh, Harry glances to the edge of the sink, his eyes falling on one of the razors thrown carelessly aside. The soft metal glitters in the light, and he tilts his head to the side as he studies it, his mind growing numb. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, standing cautiously, Harry shivers slightly from the cold air, but he doesn’t try to dry. Tentatively, he picks up the razor, feels the cold metal between his fingers, letting it weigh heavy in his palm.

He can hear voices outside the door but knows Louis isn’t with him. Harry tenses at the thought of him. Louis wants him to change; he wants him to take care of himself, not be a child. Harry sucks in a breath, hating the way those words had left Louis’ lips, but he can’t shake how gutted he feels as they replay in his mind.

He needs to change, and then he can be the boy for Louis if he could have him at all. Harry needs to change everything, starting with everything that happened long before they were together. Deep down, he knows that it will never leave him; it can’t. The torturous memories fill his thoughts, and Harry squeezes his hands shut, the razor held tight in his fist. The mirror begins to clear, and Harry feels sick with the image he sees, knowing it’s what everyone sees.

His hair hangs in his face, weighing heavy against his skin, and Harry recoils, brushing it from his face. The razor catches, but instead of pulling it away, Harry brings it against his head. The first swipe doesn’t take much hair, neither does the third or fourth, but eventually, the hair begins to fall against his shoulders and chest, the wet strands sticking to his damp skin.

Harry remembers how Louis used to run his fingers through the thick locks, and he’s relieved, in a sense. Louis won’t be able to do this anymore, he left now, and it’s just Harry. Harry’s always hated his hair but grew it out because Louis loved it. Now no one can have it. It’s gone, and Harry’s finally in control.

Harry feels a smile come to his face as the clumps gather around his feet, the piles falling from his shoulders onto the floor. His fingers start to tremble, his mind trying to stop his thoughts of Louis, and the razor slips. Harry feels the slice before he sees it, and looking down, all he can see is the thick trail of blood along the length of his pinkie.

A gasp leaves his mouth, but not out of pain, but a sense of shock. It doesn’t hurt. His finger throbs where the razor cut, but it’s freeing, easing everything inside of him that’s hurt for so long. The thread of blood moves around his hand, down his wrist, the red drying against his skin, but he doesn’t wipe it away.

There’s a knock at the door before it opens, and Harry startles, turning quickly to face whoever it might be. The razor is held high in his hand, his body frozen as the door opens, revealing Liam. His eyes widen, and Harry remembers he’s still naked, but Liam isn’t staring at that, but his hand, where the blood is staining his skin.

“Harry,” Liam speaks gently, and Harry instantly feels the urge to roll his eyes. He’s not a child. Harry wants to speak up but doesn’t, continuing to stand still. He slowly moves his hand to lay the razor on the edge of the sink where he’d found it, Liam watching his movements far too carefully.

“It’s just a slice,” Harry responds, his voice reproachful. Liam nods, and his lips form a line, and Harry knows there are words he wants to say but won’t. He glances behind Liam to see Niall watching the scene unfold, but Harry doesn’t feel any anger.

“Let me wash it,” Liam speaks, pulling Harry’s hand even when he doesn’t respond. He lets Liam pull his arm under the water, feeling his finger wipe the blood from his skin. “It cut deep,” Liam murmurs, but Harry doesn’t respond. His eyes are on Niall, who still hasn’t moved, let alone spoken.

“It’s okay,” Harry says softly, suddenly feeling foolish. He flinches as Liam touches the cut, which suddenly throbs unbearably beneath his skin. Harry feels his cheeks growing warm, and he turns, pulling his hand from Liam to grab the towel from the shelf, quickly wrapping it around himself.

“You get dressed,” Liam speaks carefully, voice filling with control beneath his worried eyes. “You’re gonna need a haircut,” he says softly, and Harry reaches to his head, his fingers only brushing a half head of hair. He looks down and sees the rest at his feet, only vaguely remembering how it got there.

“Oh,” Harry breathes, realization hitting him. He nods when Liam steps back, silently agreeing that a proper haircut is in order.

“Harry,” Niall speaks up after Liam leaves the room. Harry is still standing in the middle of the room, and he slowly lifts his head to meet the other boy’s gaze. “Let me help you,” Niall says, and Harry nods without a second thought. He just wishes Niall were Louis.

Harry lets Niall pick his clothes, but he dresses, not daring to be bare in front of them again. His body is broken, aching with pain, compared to theirs. They don’t have the indentation of scars, some invisible, but still painful. Louis kissed the marks away so many times, but Harry has to close his eyes at the memory, wishing to rid himself of every thought of Louis.

“Come on,” Niall says once Harry’s dressed. He’s wearing too many layers for the weather but feels almost comfortable in his skin. Following Niall out of the room and down the hall, Harry slips his shoes on when Niall does. He feels like a ghost of the person he was the week before.

Harry settles into the car, Liam to his side, Niall in the front seat with Zayn, who drove. He closes his eyes, hoping to settle in for the drive, but he can’t. His body is tense, and there’s no calm for him. They’ve only outside the safety of his flat for a few minutes, and Harry can already feel the anxiousness settling.

Without a thought, his eyes immediately move to the side where the pills are waiting for him. However, with a staggering breath, he realizes they aren’t. Louis isn’t there to hand them to him; in fact, he has no idea where the pills even might be. He doesn’t even know the name of them.

Harry glances towards the window, his eyes beginning to move frantically at the passing images as they fill with tears, and his breaths are growing faster. He feels choked inside the tiny little car. The windows aren’t open, but Harry needs them to be. He reaches for the control, but his hands are trembling too much to touch. Panic begins to set in, and he knows he needs to get out, climb out of the car that’s suffocating him.

Fearful tears fill his eyes, and he can’t breathe. His heart is pounding too hard, and his chest is too tight, the space closing in on him. Harry shakes his head, trying to clear it all, but it’s only making things worse. He brings his hand to his hair, covered by the sweatshirt, and he grips the fabric, seeking control.

“Harry,” he jumps, cringing at the voice, not the one he wants. His eyes are wide when he looks to see the pills in Liam’s hand. There’s a bottle of water in Liam’s other hand, but Harry doesn’t take it. He doesn’t understand how he has the pills, but he doesn’t have time to comprehend it. He needs to calm; he can’t lose it in front of them. Then they might know. He can’t let them know any more than they already do.

Harry takes the pills without the water, used to it over the years with Louis. Louis always made sure Harry could do it without anyone knowing, and Harry wants it back, the anonymity. He wants to hide behind Louis’ back when he’s feeling afraid; he wants his touch to calm. He urgently needs his Louis back.

Harry knows he’s falling apart, but he can’t stop it. He doesn’t know what to do. His lifeline is gone, and there is no alternative. Harry wants to call him, hear his voice again, but his hands shake too much even to attempt to reach for it. Harry wants Louis’ hands to hold his so no one can see the trembling, he aches to have it back, but it’s hopeless. Louis is gone.

“You alright?” Liam says softly, shaking Harry. He looks up, startled, realizing he isn’t alone. His eyes find Niall, who is watching him closely. Harry nods, glancing towards Liam, who relaxes back into his seat.

“You have my pills?” Harry whispers so only Liam can hear. Liam looks to him warily but nods, his hand instinctively going towards his pocket.

“Yeah,” he speaks slowly. Harry stares for several moments and scoffs, suddenly annoyed, his adrenaline not quite fading from his short episode.

“Can I have them?” Harry asks. Liam continues to stare, but this time he doesn’t answer. Harry feels the blood drain from his face, and he shoves himself back into the corner of the seat, as far from Liam as he can get. His eyes flicker to Niall and then Zayn, who only glances from the driver’s seat, but his eyes hide nothing.

Anger courses through him, and his trembling hands curl into fists, pressing at his thighs as he struggles to move through the pain. Harry’s body is shaking with it, and he begins to regret everything that involves Louis. Without another thought, he manages to pull his phone from his pocket, growling as it nearly slips from his shaking hands.

“Hello,” the voice answers, surprisingly quick, but Harry doesn’t question it. His anger won’t let him.

“You fucking told them everything,” he spits, barely able to get out the words. He hears Louis scoff, but he’s not finished, “I never knew you were such a bastard, Lou. Why the fu-”

“Shut up,” Louis screams so loud that Harry has to pull the phone from his ear. He can see the others still watching him, but he’s focusing on the boy speaking through his speaker. “Jesus, Harry. What the fuck did you expect from me?!”

“I expected you to be here,” Harry cries out, overwhelmed. He clenches his eyes shut, his voice falling to a whisper, “you’re supposed to be here.”

“Well, I can’t do that,” Louis babbles, his voice quiet. “I can’t keep your secrets anymore, and I’m not going to.”

“So instead of telling me that, you bloody tell them to fucking everyone,” Harry feels the tears in his eyes, so angry yet so hurt at the tone Louis is using. He’s never heard him sound so cold and separate from him.

“Why would I tell you?” Louis retorts, and Harry knows he’s rolling his eyes. “So you can run off again or try to swallow another bottle, forcing me to tell another blasted lie for you? Again? No, I’m done; this is over, so quit calling.”

“Fuck you,” Harry spits out. His chest is heaving, but his breath is catching in his throat. His hand grips the phone so tight; it nearly breaks at Louis’ final words.

“You already did remember?” The line clicks dead, and Harry leans back in the seat, overcome by the quarry of emotions slewing through him. The pain he’s been sleeping away is back with a vengeance. He leans forward, resting his head on his knees, but it doesn’t ease his chest, his pounding heart, still beating for Louis.

“We’re here,” Niall speaks hesitantly, but Harry doesn’t move. The car engine shuts off, and Harry stays still, not bothering to try to pretend. It’s not as if he can anymore. They already know it all.

“Harry,” Harry shudders as he hears Niall’s voice in his ear. “Come on,” he urges. Harry feels him slowly slide his fingers between Harry’s, and suddenly wants to cry at the gesture. It’s gentle enough that it eases Harry’s fist loose, and he lets Niall lift his chin with his other hand.

“I don’t want to,” Harry mumbles, closing his eyes tight. Niall laughs suddenly, and Harry feels himself almost smile at the sound, realizing how much he’s missed it.

Niall leads him down the empty walk, and just after they enter, Liam and Zayn leave, talking about groceries while Niall stays. The barber leads him to a seat in the back, and when Harry pulls back his hood, the barber manages to hold back his surprise. However, the look on his face is enough to make Harry lean back in his seat, wary of what is about to happen.

Harry feels slightly relieved that he’s not alone, feeling inclined towards Niall more than the other two. Niall leans against the counter while the barber moves around him, fastening a drape around his neck. Harry is glad when he turns the chair away from the mirror, cautious of the half-haired monster staring back at him.

They are the only ones in the shop, another thought that makes Harry release some of the tension in his shoulders. His body aches, as though he hasn't relaxed in years, though he knows it's only been in the days since Louis left. Louis, Harry instantly cringes at the thought, and his head falls forward, making the barber yelp at him to stop moving.

Harry stays still, closing his eyes as the hair falls around him, holding in the urge to cry. Louis loved his hair, and now it's gone, with Louis. He suddenly wishes he hadn't been so rash and held onto it, just for something to keep of Louis. Louis had taken everything else from Harry, and Harry could've had this to hold on to, but it's gone. He breathes a slow sigh, his nostrils flaring as he fights his overwhelming emotions.

He feels a tap on his knee, and Harry's eyes automatically open to find Niall watching him closely. He smiles at Harry, and it's reassuring in a way, as though Harry might not be as crazy as he feels. His hands tremble as they move, his fingers brushing the edge of Niall's beneath the fabric still draped over him. The fear is so intense he pulls away without a thought, not bearing to hear the disdain of strangers, to know how vile he is.

"I'm going to get a soda," Niall murmurs, and Harry almost nods in understanding, but the sound of the buzzer in his ears stops him. He suddenly wants to watch, to see the last of his curls fall to the ground, but he can't catch a glimpse of the mirror.

Harry tilts his head as the barber wants him to, but closes his eyes shut, feeling the wisps of hair tickle his skin. Each strand that falls is another part of Louis that he’s losing, and he slowly realizes that the thing Louis is going through might be permanent. It hadn’t occurred to him, but the way he sounded on the phone was not the Louis he had known these last years. It was a different person altogether.

“Harry,” he jumps a little at the sound of Niall’s voice. He opens his eyes to realize it’s over, and his eyes flicker to the mirror in front of him. He bites his lip at the sight of him, his hair so short it’s near to his skull. His curls are gone, scattered in pieces around his feet.

“How’s it look?” Harry whispers, his gaze turning intently towards Niall. The boy nods, giving him a steady smile and Harry nods in return, okay for the moment. “The others are coming,” he says after Harry stands. Harry listens but doesn’t respond; he’s not eager to see Zayn again.

“Zayn’s going to leave as soon as we get back,” Niall murmurs after Harry’s paid the barber. Once again, he doesn’t respond, but with a glance, he understands that Niall didn’t expect him to. It’s a relief, maybe Niall gets Harry a bit more than he thought, but with a quick shake of his head, Harry knows it’s not possible.

“You’ll stay at mine tonight,” Niall is still speaking, but Harry’s missed most of it. He opens his mouth to respond, but Liam’s voice makes him grow quiet again. He turns as Liam calls out Harry’s name a second time, watching them near the car. Harry slides into the seat without responding, unsure of what to say. Niall moves in behind him, forcing Liam to sit in the front this time.

“We should go out tonight, yeah?” Zayn speaks up from the driver’s seat, glancing warily at Harry. Harry doesn’t want to but knows the others are holding out for him. He has to start it again, begin keeping appearances, and he hasn’t for several days. He has to make them think it doesn’t matter, that they don’t know as much as they do. Harry needs them to forget it all, as though it doesn’t exist anymore.

“Yeah,” Harry speaks, trying to feign enthusiasm, but can hear how weak it sounds in his head. He tries to think of what else he should say, but no one’s there to prompt him, and he’s speechless again.

When they return to their building, Harry leaves the car wordlessly. He starts to turn towards his flat, his hand reaching for his keys, but Niall takes his arm without speaking, leading them towards his. Harry lets him, needing it, someone to show him all over again. It’s sick, and it’s wrong, but Harry can’t stop himself from following.

When they go inside, Niall doesn’t speak, and Harry’s relieved by the silence. He lays down on the couch, pulling a thick cover on his body, his body shivering as though he’s cold, but knows he’s not. Niall slips off his shoes and walks towards him. Harry closes his eyes, unsure what’s coming, but Niall doesn’t hurt him.

He climbs behind Harry, his back against the couch, his front against Harry, and wraps his arm tightly around Harry’s torso, holding them close together. Harry tenses initially, but when he realizes that Niall’s not going to let go, he falls into the embrace, drifting restlessly just a few moments later. He can almost pretend he’s floating away, but there’s nowhere to go.

Harry awakes with a start, rough hands on his arms, and he jerks back reflexively. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he hears the scream tearing through him. The hands touch him again, and his body trembles, jerking with every movement. Finally, his eyes open, and he can hear the sound from his throat. He’s screaming and scaring Niall in front of him.

“Harry,” he cries out, shaking him again. Harry pulls away, feeling his gut tighten at the sight of Niall’s face. “Harry,” he speaks softer, his hands reaching but not touching him, “Harry.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry whispers, repeating the word. He wipes his shaking hand against his forehead and shivers at the level of moisture on his skin.

“Tell me what to do,” Niall whispers, almost to himself, and it takes Harry several seconds to realize he was asking Harry.

“About what?” Harry asks softly, his voice low and rough from his episode. Niall sighs deeply; it’s so uncharacteristic to see him lost in thought. His gaze lifts to Harry’s, and he feels taken aback by how distraught he looks.

“You,” he answers quickly, his voice pleading with him, “tell me what to do, and I’ll do it, Harry.” Harry pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, unable to answer the question that had been plaguing him for the past years.

“I don’t know,” Harry finally responds, unwilling to leave the silence so empty. Niall rubs a hand roughly over his face between reaching for Harry’s hand.

“Is it Lou?” Niall speaks hesitantly, as though scared of the words or the answer. “Did he hurt you?” Harry’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head quickly. His breath feels shuddered, and he can’t grasp why Niall would ask such an atrocious question.

“No,” Harry murmurs, “he would never… you know that.” Niall nods but doesn’t speak. He stands after several moments, walking away wordlessly. Harry suddenly wonders if he believes him.

Harry leans back into the cushions but doesn’t let himself fall back asleep. He knows he can’t sleep in their presence anymore, especially now that he can’t control the nightmares anymore. Especially in Niall’s flat, he doesn’t like the look that crossed his face earlier, and Harry knows he doesn’t want to see it again.

When Niall returns to the room, it’s to announce that the boys will be there soon, but there’s something unexplained on his face. Harry doesn’t ask, though, and Niall doesn’t offer. A peace Harry is willing to make. He still doesn’t want to go to the club but hopes to find something there, an escape he can’t have in the flat.


	5. Part Four

Despite having agreed to go to the club, Harry isn’t sure now. Still, he goes along. They leave the flat at the sound of Zayn’s horn honking, Harry lagging behind Niall until they slide into the vehicle. Harry isn’t as unsure as earlier in the car, but as they approach the club, he recognizes his nerves growing again. No one’s seen his hair, but everyone’s bound to now. He rubs his hand over his nearly bare head, a pang in his chest at how badly he wishes his hair was there, half thrown over his face.

“Harry,” Niall speaks quietly beside him. Before Harry can hear more, they’re at the door, and the others are getting out of the car. Niall hesitates, but Harry gets out, not wanting to hear any sentiments suddenly. He wants to forget, and this feels like a good start. Despite ignoring him, Niall’s hand is on his arm, and when they enter the club, Harry realizes why.

Louis is there, with another man. Harry can’t breathe. His Louis is laughing and has his hand around the man’s waist, leaning into him as he’d used to do with Harry when no one else was around. Louis didn’t just ditch Harry. He’d found someone else altogether. Harry’s hand trembles against his side, with Niall’s fingers still wrapped around his other arm.

“Har-”

“Don’t,” Harry interrupts Niall, somehow knowing that Niall was aware of this. He shakes his head, doesn’t stop until Niall wraps an arm around his waist, leading him away. He doesn’t want to go but doesn’t have control. It’s gone.

“Talk to me,” Niall pleads, his hand reaching for Harry’s face. Harry immediately flinches back, his eyes flickering to anyone who might’ve seen the almost embrace between them. He dares a glance at Niall’s face, but he holds the look that Louis so often did, and it makes Harry’s stomach clench in pain.

“I can’t,” Harry mumbles. His hands are still trembling, but Niall’s backed away now, and Harry feels calmer. He lifts his head, and his eyes meet Louis’. He’s come close, and Harry isn’t expecting, and now, isn’t sure what to do

“Your hair,” Louis says in surprise, his eyes wide. Harry’s eyes move to the hand he’s holding, a hand that isn’t his. Louis continues to stand stiffly but doesn’t let go of the other man’s hand. Harry feels like the wind has beaten out of him, and he doesn’t have anything to grip and find a sense of balance. It used to be Louis that held him in these moments, but now he’s empty, holding onto the space he used to fill.

“Who’s this?” Harry manages to ask, not wanting the answer. Louis stares for several long moments but doesn’t speak. He drops the man’s hand, and Harry watches as the stranger departs, leaving them alone. Harry glances to his left, but Niall is there, a relief that Harry isn’t expecting.

“I didn’t, uh,” Louis starts to speak, but he quickly trails off. Harry feels angry, his chest heaving with the breaths he’s holding.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” Harry hears himself snap. He cringes at the sound of his voice and instantly hates himself for it. Harry looks to Niall and wants to reach for him but can’t. He can’t touch him here; he can’t touch any of them here. Harry drops his head, angry tears forming in his tears.

“Get him out of here,” he hears Louis. Harry hates it. He hates that Louis still knows what Harry needs, but he’s not there to do it anymore. Harry flinches, when Niall touches his back, instantly pulling away and steps aside.

Harry moves forward, his eyes downcast, but when he bumps into another body, he lifts his gaze. It lingers on the boy before him, at least a few years older. It’s someone he doesn’t know, doesn’t know all his secrets, and could maybe keep his for the time being. Harry knows it’s a dangerous thought but allows it to linger anyway.

“Hey, there,” the stranger says, recognition in his eyes. Harry moves to step aside, but he’s still standing in the same spot, “let me buy you a drink, yeah?”

“Uh,” Harry stalls, glancing back to where Niall was following him. He’s not there, he’s talking to Louis, and both boys are watching him closely. Harry looks back to the stranger and feels oddly powerful when he nods in agreement.

He stays far enough away that the boy won’t try to touch him, but he knows that Louis is watching, and that’s enough. The stranger stares at him after ordering, and though Harry feels uncomfortable under his gaze, he stills stands beside him at the bar, letting him take charge.

“So what’s your name?” the boy asks, and Harry feels taken aback, not used to being the stranger. He thought he’d recognized him, but he’s free now. He can be Harry for the night and not Harry Styles of One Direction.

“Harry,” he responds. “You?”

“Sean,” the stranger responds with a smile. Harry nods and takes a long swig of his beer, glancing to see Louis watching him, anger written across his features. It feels like a stab in the chest, and Harry takes another quick drink to hide from the unwavering gaze.

“Harry,” he looks to see Niall standing, his eyes glancing towards Sean warily. “You ready to go?” Harry glances between the two and knows he doesn’t want to stay.

“Yeah,” he nods. He takes another swig and leaves the half-empty bottle at the bar, turning without another word towards the boy. He didn’t care what he had to say anyway. He’d done his part, helped him piss off Louis, but it only makes Harry feel worse. As they left the place, Harry still wants Louis to hold him, to take away the never-ending pain.

The following day, Harry shuts himself in his flat and deadbolts the door, preventing others' entry. He doesn't want to see them, to know the truth, to face any of it. Every time he pictures Louis with that stranger, Harry feels sick to his stomach, almost as if he could pass out from how deplorable it feels.

He leaves late that night to buy the beer and locks himself right back inside his Louis' old room, drinking and drowning away every feeling of fear, of shame, but mostly, rejection. Louis doesn’t want him anymore. The very thought sends angry tears to Harry's eyes. The beer falls from his hands, landing with a loud crash against the floor, but Harry doesn’t even flinch.

Harry drops back into the pillows as the tears begin to fall upon their own accord; he doesn’t even care anymore. He just wants the ache to fade, to forget the feel of Louis on his skin, instead of some stranger. He wants Louis to take all the pain away, as he did for so long. His body hurts at the thought that he's lost him. There's no getting Louis back after this.

Deep down, Harry knows he's fucked up. He knows how messed up his thinking is, and he can't blame Louis for someone better, someone who doesn't piss their pants to nightmares or pop pills every time someone says something wrong. Harry knows, but he can't let go of everything Louis did, the way he held him, putting him back together every time he fell apart.

His limbs feel heavy as he lies against the pillows, soft sounds of his cries echoing the walls, and he curls into his side. It’s as if he’s a child all over again, but there’s no one to hold him anymore. Harry can’t remember the last time he felt so undeniably alone. There’s always been someone beside him, whispering to him, making him calm down, but now he has no one.

When Harry awakes from his slumber, it's to the sound of the pounding at the door. He groans loudly, his body falling onto his side, and he knows he's going to vomit. He crawls through the hall, half-standing, half stumped until he finds the toilet, releasing everything he'd consumed into the porcelain bowl.

The knocking continues as Harry finishes, and he groans loudly, his body clenching as many dry heaves set in. His hands are shaking violently, and he pulls himself to stand, his breaths escaping in short shudders, drool falling from his bottom lip to his shirt. He shivers and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, not caring about the remnants of the night before lingering in his mouth.

He cries out in frustration as the sound persists. There’s an ache in his head as the person continues to pound on the door. He walks towards it, his body trembling with the cold air of the foyer. He assumes he must've left a window open somewhere, but he's not sure which. Harry mumbles obscenities as he stumbles towards the door, his anger dissipating with the realization he doesn't want to know who's on the other side of the door.

He wants to pretend he's completely alone, that nothing is lingering outside that security. His pain is so great, his entire body burns with it, a slow pulse beating beneath his skin. Harry stands before the door, the sound echoing in his ears, and he's trembling with the need to back away, to hide for just a little bit longer.

When he finally releases the deadbolt, the door swings open, nearly getting him in the face. Harry falls to the floor in surprise, his eyes wide at the sight of Niall standing before him. He's red in his face, angry, and he doesn't speak. Instead enters the flat without explicit permission from Harry. He shuts the door and then the deadbolt behind him. Harry watches his hands, clenched into tight little fists, and he releases a shuddery breath.

"Don't hurt me," Harry manages to gasp. Niall's eyes go wide, and suddenly, it's as though his anger is gone. He crouches before Harry, pulling him into his arms.

"I'm not going to," Niall murmurs. Harry's body moves in tight, shuddery movements, shaking all over, and he can't release it, even in Niall's arms. Everything is wrong, and he doesn't know if there’s a way out.

"He's not mine anymore," Harry whispers, but deep down, he knows it's the least of his problems. He feels Niall nod against his shoulder, his hand flat on Harry's back. Harry's eyes close with the ministrations, his body slowly relaxing, though still tense. The hurt doesn't fade, but the fear begins to, something Harry doesn't expect.

"Talk to me, Harry," Niall says after a while, but Harry only shakes his head. He wraps his hand around the side of Niall's shirt, gripping the fabric as he fights to calm.

"I can't," he whispers because it's the truth.

"Tell me what hurts," Niall tries again, and Harry can hear the desperation in his voice but has no way to appease it, just like with Louis. It causes his chest to tighten, and his pain grows more substantial, knowing he's hurting him, but he doesn't know how to stop it.

"Everything," Harry mumbles, and Niall leans into him. Niall's whispering to him, telling him things, but Harry doesn't hear it. He drifts to sleep, taking in everything Niall is giving him, not sure if it's what he needs or not. He holds back the thought of Louis, knowing he'd do it right the first time, and Harry wouldn't even question it. Louis isn’t here anymore, and Harry can only take what he’s given.

Niall stays with Harry, watching him, making him eat, and angering him when he hides his beer, but Niall doesn't leave. Harry waits for it, though, the moment when Niall grows too fed up, disgusted with what Harry is. Liam shows the next day but doesn't stay long, not that Harry expected him to.

Despite helping when Louis initially left, Liam hadn't tried to help, obviously put off by the admission of Harry's secrets. Zayn was another story altogether. He was hiding Louis, keeping all his secrets from Harry. He didn't know which was worse, that Zayn knew everything or that he knew everything about Louis when Harry didn’t.

Days pass and Harry resolves to stay in his room, hiding behind the closed door, ignoring Niall on the other side. He would still approach each morning, afternoon, and evening with food, none of which Harry ate. Harry wanted him to leave, to shove off, as he should because Harry doesn’t deserve to have any of them around. If Louis didn't want him, why would anyone else?

On Friday, Niall comes in, off the schedule he’d created. It's not mealtime, and Harry instantly sits up when the door opens, revealing him. Niall walks cautiously, and Harry bit the inside of his lip, holding in the wince as the taste of blood fills his mouth. Harry doesn't know what he's going to say, so he just watches, fearing the worst.

"I don't know what to do," Niall murmurs. Harry stares for several moments, unsure what to say because he doesn't have an answer any more than Niall does.

"About me?" Harry whispers, his voice wavering more than he wants. Niall nods, and Harry's gaze falls to his hands, the skin peeling around his fingers from where he's picking at it.

"I'm sorry I didn't know," Niall says. Harry doesn't know where he's going, so he stays silent, his heart pounding quickly in his chest as the other boy speaks, "I always knew you and Louis were each other’s glue, but it never occurred to me why."

Harry feels his breath catch in his throat, unable to handle the moment he's been waiting for, the moment when Niall gives up on him too. He can't be more disgusted than Harry is with himself, and angry tears fill his eyes. He can't handle what he is; he can’t expect anyone else to.

"I mean," Niall continues, but Harry begins to shake his head, not wanting to hear the sound of his rejection. He wishes his heart would just stop, his hands grip his knees as he fights for some support, but everything is falling all over again. "Harry," Niall cries out, and Harry lifts his head, tears already falling down his cheeks, "Listen to me!"

"I can't," Harry whispers, his voice cracking, and he closes his eyes. "I know, okay," Harry murmurs, "I know it's gross and disgusting, I know... but please, don't leave."

"Harry," Niall moves to his side, pulling him in, "I'm not leaving... I'm right here." Niall's body is tense against Harry's, but Harry couldn't expect him to be at ease with him the way he is. "You're not any of those things," Niall whispers, "You're so perfect, Harry."

"I'm not," Harry shakes his head, letting his body fall into Niall's as he begins openly crying to the point of sobbing. "I'm sorry I'm not like you guys. I wanted to. I tried so hard- I swear, I did, I tried, I tried- I tried so hard."

"Tried what?" Niall asks. Harry lifts his head, his eyes unable to meet Niall's as he speaks through his tears.

"To like girls," he manages to speak. He's never uttered the words aloud before, and he hates the way they sound, leaving his lips.

"But I don't care about that," Niall whispers. His hand lifts to Harry's face, wiping away the still falling tears, his face contorted in pain, and Harry knows he's hurt him again.

"I'm sorry," he speaks quietly, his tears slowing with Niall's gentle actions. Niall shakes his head, sighing, and Harry tenses, feeling as though he isn’t going to like what he's going to say.

"I need you to do something for me," Niall says gently, his eyes watching Harry closely, "and I know you're not going to want to, but I want you to try."

"What?" Harry asks softly, biting his lip as he awaits the response.

"I want you to talk to someone," he speaks urgently, "I want you to get some help." Harry stares for a long time. His breath caught as Niall's request rolls around in his head. He wants to say he doesn't need it and wants to get rid of the pain, but he doesn't know if there's truth to that either. He remembers those words, imprinted in his head from long before, and he shakes his head, unable to do what Niall's asking.

"I don't think I can," he whispers, dropping his eyes, "I-"

"What, Harry, what?!" Niall snaps. Harry inches away from him, his body tense with Niall's sudden anger, "You think this is okay, you're barely fucking here... Louis is gone, he's gone, Harry. We still have to go on. You have to go on."

"You think I don't know that?!" Harry screeches, his voice straining from lack of use. "I know he's gone. He fucking left me because I'm useless, Niall. Why don't you remind me one more fucking time?"

"Damn it," Niall shifted, pulling away from Harry completely, "I'm here, trying to bloody help you, but you keep shoving me aside. You need help, Harry. You need it, and I can't give it to you."

"I can't," Harry shook his head, his face hot from Niall's reaction. "I can't find out-" Harry's breath gave out, his body falling lax at what he'd just spoken.

"Harry!" Niall cries out, and Harry opens his eyes to see the boy's fists tight in anger, "what can't you find out?" Niall’s voice softens as Harry lifts his gaze to him.

"That they can't fix me," Harry whispers. "I can't hear it from anyone else," his voice shakes, and he leans forward, his hands tentatively resting on Niall's thighs, "I can't."

"Who did this to you?" Niall breaths slowly, his hands resting over Harry's fingers, holding him steady. He sighs, his eyes boring into Harry, and he has to look away from the intensity. "Who made you think you're like this?"

"No," Harry shakes his head, willing the memories away, but they're coming nonetheless. "Please, don't," he whispers, and Niall pulls him in once again. Harry's head falls against his lap, his body curling into his knees as Niall leans over him awkwardly.

"Okay," Niall says softly, his lips near Harry's ear, "it's okay." Harry doesn't cry, but he feels like he could if he let go. He holds on tight, his fingers gripping the fabric of Niall's trousers, listening to the words whispered in his ear. Harry wants to believe him. He does but can't. He knows it’s not true, and it’s never going to be okay.

Niall suddenly tenses above Harry, and Harry slowly lifts his head, watching Niall's gaze turn worried. Harry pulls back wholly, feeling his heartbeat quickly in his chest. He hears it then, the knock at the door, and he looks at Niall as he knows who's there.

"I came in here," Niall speaks softly, "because we were talking, and we thought you could use some more support." Harry shakes his head, his hands trembling against his legs, fearing what Niall means. He couldn't have called. They didn't phone them, please, don’t let him say they phoned them.

"No," Harry whispers, his eyes widened in fear, and Niall looks taken aback by his reaction.

"We called your mum yesterday, and that's probably them," Niall says gently. Harry hurries back, stumbling off the bed, falling against the hardwood floor, "she's gutted, Harry."

" _Nononono_ ," Harry whispers, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. His hands cover his face as the knocking grows louder, the dread is so intense inside him, and he feels weak, sick, a pain filling him that he can't escape. “No!” he screams, unable to do anything else.

"Harry, it's okay," Niall says softly, but Harry won't let him near. He crawls backward, away from Niall's approaching footsteps. There has to be a place to hide, to get out, but he can't. He can't see, his hands so tight around his face, and he needs to escape.

Harry wants Louis, he's the only one who can understand, but he can't have him. Harry opens his eyes, but Niall is gone. He moves forward, searching for his phone, but he hasn't touched it in days, can't remember where he left it. His hands stumble across the floor. His arms barely hold him up as he crawls. His mind flickers to Louis' room, and he vaguely recalls he left the phone there.

He hears that voice, meaning he's here, and Harry can't find his _fucking_ phone. He feels a sob lifting out of his throat, but he can't cry. He can't let him see him cry. Harry manages to stand, using the bed to help him, his legs weak and nearly give out beneath him. Without looking towards the front door, he stumbles across the hall to Louis' old room and almost cries with relief at the sight of the mobile device.

Harry can hear Niall calling him, but he doesn't answer. With his shaky fingers, he manages to get the phone to light up. There's hardly any battery, but maybe enough. It takes too long for him to dial, but he finally gets Louis’ number in, waiting for the ring. His back leans against the wall, and he slides to the floor as he waits for the answer.

"Hello," the voice is short, but it's Louis.

"They're here," Harry manages to whisper, fearing everything outside the room. "M-my mum, they called them Louis, a-and-and, they're here... I-"

"What?!” Louis’ hiss interrupts him. The phone beeps, and suddenly Louis is gone. Harry pulls the phone to see it powering down, and he knows he has to leave the room. He can't escape from here; it’s the third floor of the building.

He pulls himself up once again and walks to the bathroom. He doesn't know what else to do, but he needs to buy some time. They're waiting for him, but he can't go down there, can't see _him_ again. He locks the door behind him and turns the shower on, the way he used to avoid Louis.

It doesn't make sense, but nothing makes sense anymore. Harry pulls the clothes from his body and climbs beneath the water, letting the hot drips cleanse everything. It burns his skin, and he begins to scrub, wiping at every part of his skin, but it’ll never clear, his skin tainted, marked by the secrets he can barely keep anymore.

His heart pounds, and his chest heaves, but he can't stop wiping it away. Harry falls to the floor of the shower, the lack of food making his legs weak, and he can't stand any longer. He wants to cry, but he can't, not while he's here. He could hear, and Harry can't bear to be in front of him again, to listen to those words that still echo in his mind.

When Harry leaves the shower, his body tingling and burning from the water's temperature, he doesn't feel any better. He feels the same pain, the same aches making him fall apart all over again. Harry tries to breathe, but everything hurts. It hurts, and he just wants to let go of it all. He wants to give up and let it go away until he doesn't hurt anymore, until he never has to break again.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed by when he makes it to his room, but he dresses, covering his body with layers of clothes. The towel is tight in Harry's hands when he hears the knock at the door, and Liam is there, his eyes guarded as he stares at Harry. He wants answers, but Harry can't give those.

"We've been waiting for a while," he says quietly. "Your mum's getting worried," he continues, and Harry shakes his head. He leans back on the bed, wanting to refuse to come. Liam has an arm around Harry, urging him to the door. He follows, his body shaking, and he can't answer Liam's questioning gaze. He can't say it aloud; he can’t even say it in his head.

He stumbles down the hall, his socks slipping against the floor as he hears the voices in the living room. The sound quiets as he approaches, and then he sees them. His mother and his stepfather, laughing with Zayn and Niall, talking about the time they'd spent in the bungalow. It was the last time Harry had faced either of them. And now they were here, and he was stuck, unable to run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are divine. Thanks for reading!


	6. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please adhere to warnings. Intense homophobia, violence, and language in this part.

When Harry comes into the room, his mother stands instantly, and Harry feels frozen when her arms wrap around him. Liam still has a hand on Harry's wrist, and immediately Harry feels himself pull back, realizing who can see. His mum backs away, and Harry tries to smile, but he can see him watching from his place on the couch. His arm stretched where Harry's mother was just sitting, and he flinches as their eyes meet.

He knows. Harry doesn’t know how, but he does.

Fear invades him, unlike anything he ever felt, and Harry moves back when his mother finally steps away. He releases one shuddery breath and then another, trying to breathe regularly, but his lungs are tight. Harry’s not sure if any air will ever fill them again. He's still watching Harry, and he smiles, and Harry doesn't know what to do.

Harry’s eyes flicker away, and they find Niall. Harry presses his palms flat against his thighs to hide the tremor, it’s a sign of weakness, but he’ll never be stable again. Niall continues watching him, his eyes move back to him and then to Harry similarly, and his eyes widen. Harry bites his lip, unable to read Niall’s gaze, to understand what he knows.

“Come sit,” his mother speaks up. She grabs Harry’s arm, and he flinches, pulling away in an instant. It’s an automatic reaction, and he feels the guilt creep up at the look on his mother’s face. There’s no way to appease it, either. She steps back completely, moving towards her seat on the couch next to _him_.

“Harry,” he scolds. Harry’s eyes move to his, he’s warning him, and Harry has frozen again, fear overpowering any defense he might’ve had.

All eyes move to the front door as it’s slammed open, and Harry’s eyes grow wide at the sight of Louis. His face is red; his hair askew, as though he’d just left the shower. His eyes are immediately on Harry, and as he enters, he glances around the rest of the room, the silence deafening.

Louis moves to Harry, his hands reaching for him. Harry’s eyes grew wide at the realization that Louis was touching him, that anyone could see. Louis wraps his arms around Harry, but the fear and shame are stronger than Harry could have imagined. He’s pushing before he can stop himself, his face red, his eyes glistening with every emotion.

“Get off me,” Harry finally manages to push him away. Louis’ eyes are vast, and Harry can’t believe what he’d just done. Louis had outed them in front of his parents. They had to know now. Louis is hurt, but Harry can’t even feel it over his embarrassment, shame at what everyone had just witnessed.

“Harry!” his mother cries out, but Harry can’t hear it over the blood rushing through his veins. Louis doesn’t move, and Harry can’t handle it, can’t take everyone’s eyes on him, knowing how disgusted they all are, especially his stepfather.

“I’ll talk to him,” Harry’s eyes go wide when the man speaks up, his hand comforting his mother. Harry shakes his head, but he’s already standing, approaching him. Harry feels rooted to the spot. He can’t move; his eyes remain wide as his stepfather reaches him, his hand coming over Harry’s shoulders, steering him in the direction of his bedroom.

“It’s okay,” Niall speaks up, but Harry’s already led away. The terror Harry feels is indescribable. He remembers everything about their last encounter, his nightmares lingering two years later. Even Louis couldn’t fix everything that had happened, and Louis restored so much about Harry.

Harry feels his knees buckle when they’re inside the room as he shoves him to the floor. The sound of his knees on the wood is earsplitting, and he struggles to hold still, to fight, but he’s so scared. Harry can already hear the words he hasn’t said, knowing how small he can easily make him feel.

“So,” his stepfather speaks. Harry closes his eyes, cringing at the sound of every step he hears when he walks around his crouched body. “It’s true then?” he asks. Harry doesn’t answer but can’t bear to say it aloud. He cries out as he suddenly grips his short hair, yanking his head. His lips are against Harry’s ear, “I asked you a question.”

“Y-yes,” Harry manages to gasp, feeling the other hand reach around his neck, dipping his head backward. Everything about the moment is so familiar, and Harry can’t help the tears that fill his eyes, slowly slipping through the closed lids.

“My son’s still a faggot then, yeah?” he asks, and Harry shudders violently at his words. Harry shakes his head, the best he can in the hold, but he chuckles above him.

“No,” Harry breathes, wanting so badly for it to be the truth.

He dares to open his eyes, but he's right there before him, staring directly into Harry's face. His face contorted with disgust and Harry's tears begin to fall faster, one by one, causing him to tighten his hold on Harry's hair. Harry reaches a hand to his neck, his face reddening as he fights to breathe through the grasp.

"No?" he questions, his lips wet as he speaks. Harry can feel the flies of spit against his cheeks and shivers, his body frozen in fear. He's so angry, Harry has seen him mad before, and right now, it’s worse. Harry knows he's done it. If he'd just stayed away from Louis as he warned him that night in the bungalow, this would be so much different.

"I'm not-" Harry fights to breathe, but his hold is just mover tighter, nearly cutting him off completely. Harry's eyes glisten, and they grow wide at the look in his eyes, staring straight back at him, and Harry fears for his life. His fingers grasp his fingers, struggling to pull his tight grip away from his neck.

"So my son isn't a faggot," he speaks, his voice so dark and menacing, Harry's entire body shakes, "he doesn't like that fairy boy's cock up his arse, is that what you're saying?"

Harry tries to shake his head, to take away the horrible thing he's speaking, but he can't move. His grip is so tight around Harry's neck, and he just wants to escape, to drift off and fade away, to disappear completely. Harry tries to cough, to catch some breath of air, but it's failing him. His heart is pounding, his body clenching in terror, but there's no release.

When he suddenly releases Harry, the rush of oxygen is overwhelming, and he falls back against the floor, coughing and heaving, his hands curled into tight fists as he fights to find the strength to run away. He’s still right there, towering over Harry, and he can’t stop the sob that escapes his throat. He’s openly crying now, and there’s no way to stop his tears.

"Don't," Harry gasps, in between cries, when he sees him approaching again, "I won't, I swear I won't... it's over. It's over." He crouches, covering his arms over his head, his body curled defensively, but he doesn’t grab him. Harry doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s too scared to look.

“Quit your bloody cryin’, boy,” he speaks finally. Harry nods but doesn’t stop crying, his tears too strong for him. He can’t admit what he is, can’t face that the reason he’s so angry is that it’s all true.

“I’m sorry,” Harry gasps, speaking against his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, daring to lift his head. His cheeks are damp from the tears and he’s there, sitting on the bed, watching Harry closely. Harry shivers at the dark gaze, unsure what he’s doing, why he’s just sitting. He just wants him to get it over with, go away for another two years.

“Do the other boys know?” he asks suddenly. Harry starts to shake his head, but when he stands, his gaze menacing, he nods yes. “They know you’re a queer?” Harry nods, closing his eyes at the words, knowing how hard he’d tried to keep it a secret. They weren’t supposed to know. No one was, but Louis had ruined that.

Harry feels a bout of anger course through him. If it weren’t for Louis, none of them would be having this problem. It was his fault. He should’ve stopped them from calling his parents. He shouldn’t have told Zayn or even bloody left him in the first place. This situation was all Louis’ fault, but the realization only makes Harry cry harder.

“I don’t want you back in my house,” he speaks. Harry falls silent, his tears continuing to stream, but he doesn’t know what to say. “You want to be a fucking queer, fine, but you’re done.”

“B-but,” Harry gasps, instantly thinking of his mother. He shakes his head, and Harry can’t speak, doesn’t know what to say. Harry knows he deserves it, but he didn’t think it would be like that. “No,” he breathes. Suddenly his step-father is there, towering over Harry, and his hand is back in hair, yanking his head so far backward, his body jerks unnaturally.

“D’you hear me?” Harry gulps loudly and nods, his face contorted in pain, but the hold tightens on his head. “No son of mine is ever going to be a bloody fairy. You got that?”

“I w-won’t,” Harry whispers in horror. He shoves Harry back, letting go of his hair, and then he’s up and walking towards the door. It shuts behind him with a slam. Harry only hesitates a moment before he crawls to it, locking it firmly, his body slumping behind the door.

His body heaves, aching with the pain of it all. His neck is throbbing, steady with the beat of his quick heart rate, his blood moving too fast through his veins. He needs to get out, but he can’t face him again. He can’t see any of them, to see their disdain, their outright contempt for him.

Harry tries to stand, but he can’t. His body won’t let him move. He chokes on his sobs, his mouth thick as he fights to breathe once again. He wants to move, to get away from the place and everything it means, but he has nowhere to go. No one wants him, his one chance was Louis, but he ruined that.

It feels like hours, but Harry finally calms enough to move. His arms shake as he forces his body up, his fingers scraping against the door until he can pull himself to stand. Harry is still sniffling, sucking in deep breaths beneath his swollen eyes. He finds what he’s searching for and manages to grab his wallet with shaking fingers, hoping there’s money inside, but too dazed to look.

His heart pounds loudly against his chest, beating roughly, as he dares to open the door. He can’t breathe with his entire body rigid with fear, until that moment he comes face to face with an empty hall. Harry can hear laughter from the front room and knows it’s them. They’re so happy without him around. Harry takes a few steps down the hall but pauses at the sight of Niall crouched at the end.

Harry immediately pulls his jumper tight around his neck, fearing how he might look, desperately not wanting anyone to see. He glances to his feet, knows he needs shoes. Holding his breath, Harry moves forward. His feet tumble across the floor as he hurries past Niall.

“Harry,” he hears the hiss but doesn’t respond. He moves past the doorway of the room, holding him and all the others who used to be his friends. He doesn’t know if Niall’s following him, but he doesn’t want to see if he’s not. He manages to grab his shoes that he’d last left beside the door and hurries out before he can hear another word.

Harry glances once he’s halfway down the walk, but he can’t see anyone there. It’s nearing dark outside, and he doesn’t have his keys, doesn’t have a place to go. His hands tremble as he realizes he’s out and doesn’t want to be alone, but Harry is, doesn’t have anyone left. They don’t want him anymore.

He doesn’t want to cry again, so Harry steps forward, waving his hand as a taxi comes into view. He climbs in the cab, mumbling the need for a drink before the driver pulls from the curb. Harry doesn’t know where they're going, just understands the need to get away, to forget everything for a night. When the taxi stops, Harry’s eyes widen at the sight of the same club he’d been to the week before.

Opening his wallet, Harry’s relieved to see the cash and quickly pays the driver before stepping outside. He shivers in the cold evening air and moves forward, his hand running through his hair, still not used to the short length. His eyes flicker towards the crowd before walking towards the main doors, the bouncer opening the gate without a word.

Harry’s inside for only a moment before someone approaches, and he lifts his gaze to see the same boy from the week before, though his eyes are far from welcoming. "Harry," Sean speaks evenly, "you skipped out on me the other night." Harry nods, feeling his chest clench, an accumulation of being out in public, and the feeling of his stepfather's hands on him.

"Sorry about that," Harry says quietly, hoping to walk aside. He just needs a drink, to forget everything about the evening, everything about the last month. Sean sticks his hand out, stopping Harry in his tracks, and he immediately looks up at the older boy.

"Let's have a drink," Sean states evenly, and Harry nods, fearing the alternative. He doesn't want him to touch him again, and he can't trust himself to run fast enough. He doesn't have anyone to call, and he can't even remember if his phone is in his pocket.

They walk to the bar, Sean staying much too close, and Harry doesn't know what to say to get out of it. He watches close as Sean orders the two beers, and the bartender flashes a look of recognition as he passes Harry his. Harry's heart is pounding loud in his chest, fearing what he must think of them, of him. Sean begins speaking, but Harry can't stop staring at the bartender, waiting for the look of disgust.

"Quit looking at him," Sean suddenly hisses in Harry's ear. He jerks back, his eyes growing wider as the beer topples over. Harry glances frantically between the scowl on the bartender's face and the matching gaze on Sean and steps back instantly. Harry collides with someone behind him and turns with a start, finding two wide-eyed girls staring at him with undisguised glee.

His hands are already trembling, his body shaking with the need to escape, so he does. He shoves past them, running as fast as his feet will allow him, needing to find a way out. The door is so far, and he feels trapped between all the bodies of the club. It’s so far away, and then there is his escape.

Harry rushes through the door, but the first breath of fresh air brings a wave of nausea through him. Harry’s hand flies over his mouth, and he rushes towards the side of the building, crouching around the corner of the alley. Fighting through several dry heaves, Harry is surprised nothing comes up. Angry tears fill his eyes, and he leans his head against the brick wall, searching for anything to hold him down.

When he finally stands, Harry feels dizzy and unkempt. He just wants to go back home and go to his bed, but the realization that he can’t because his stepfather is waiting for him. Harry’s completely alone and doesn’t know what to do. His hands clench into fists as he searches for clarity, but all he feels is the extreme terror of the situation dawning on him.

“Harry,” a voice murmurs as the body presses against him. Harry stiffens instantly, unable to recognize who it might be. “Why’d you run, love?” he speaks again, and Harry knows it’s that boy from the bar, Sean. Harry tries to turn, but suddenly his body is pressed flat against the building's brick wall.

“Wha-” he starts to speak, but there’s a hand in his hair, pushing his face so hard into the wall that skin breaks against the rough surface. Harry gasps, his eyes searching wildly for an escape. He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“No one runs from me,” Sean speaks again, his voice much darker, so reminiscent of stepfather earlier. Tears fill his eyes, and Harry doesn’t know what to do. His fingers scrape the edge of the wall, scrabbling to find something to fight with, but there’s nothing there.

“Stop,” Harry manages to squeak, but all Sean does is laugh. The sound is loud in Harry’s ear, and he begins to move, really force away from the hold. Harry groans loudly as the skin of his cheeks tears against a rough corner of the wall, and he feels the drips of blood slide openly down his face to his neck.

He turns around, and he’s facing Sean, whose eyes are darker than Harry even imagined. Harry quickly shoves against him, taller, but he’s weak from weeks of not eating. Sean easily overpowers him, getting him onto the ground. Harry starts to cry out, to scream, but he’s stuck at the moment, feeling a loss for air.

Two hands grip his wrists, holding them around his back, and he feels Sean’s knee pressing him into the damp cement. There are puddles all around, and his legs are splashing in one, searching for a way to fight him off. Sean chuckles above him, and Harry can’t handle it. He feels himself breaking apart one piece at a time, and he can’t fight the feeling that he deserves what’s coming to him. Sean’s so much more robust, and Harry’s just weak. He can’t push him off. Harry wants to get him away, but he’s much smaller, unable to.

Harry cries into the night air, the sound growing louder, and he can hear things, but doesn’t know what’s happening, why he’s gotten himself beaten down again. He wants Louis to save him but can’t cry for him. Harry lost that chance when he ran away. He tries to scramble off, but Sean is quick to force him still. Harry’s eyes grow wide, and screams as he feels the hand on the back of his jeans. He’s struggling with them, but Harry knows he’s trying to pull them down, revealing things meant to stay dark.

Harry’s body jerks as he fights against the boy above him, but he’s still trying to undress him. He tries to think of Louis, how gentle he was the few times Harry allowed them to get this far. This boy isn’t Louis, and he isn’t soothing. Realizing what is happening, Harry needs Louis, wholly and thoroughly. He can’t let this happen. Sean’s breathing is rough and ragged against his ear, hands still searching, and Harry’s terrified as his wet breaths scatter his skin.

Harry keeps fighting, refusing to give in to whatever the boy’s trying to do. Suddenly, Sean lets go, and it only takes a second before Harry begins to scrabble forward, his weakened arms pulling the hold. He only moved a few inches before his entire body seizes in pain, his back thrown against the metal dumpster behind him. Sean kicks again, and Harry curls into himself, the agony more incredible than anything he ever felt.

Each kick is worse than the first until Harry can’t help but spit the bitter liquid from his mouth; the rest was drooling from his lips. He tries to push himself off the ground, but his body hurts so bad, he’s so pathetic. He knows Sean is there, and he tries to move forward, but Harry keeps falling into the puddle beneath him, his face falling into the murky water.

“Come on,” Sean speaks, and without warning, he’s using Harry’s hair to pull him farther down the alley, away from the wide-open escape.

Harry cries out, groaning loudly, but a punt to the side of his head causes him to see black. Harry’s fight is fading as Sean drops him to the ground once again, his body aching in pain, his head throbbing from the footprint. But it’s then that Harry sees someone else, isn’t sure who it is but knows it’s not Louis. The other man pulls Sean away, and Harry’s free but unable to move in his weakened state.

He remembers Niall sitting at the end of the hall, suddenly feeling as though it was many days ago, instead of hours. Harry wishes he'd gone to him when he'd called his name. Harry wishes he'd rushed into his arms, taken everything Niall had been offering since Louis left. He hadn't though, he'd pushed him away, made them all go off, and it brought him here to this moment.

The thought of them, who were once his friends, maybe not anymore, but Harry knew how much he loved them. He knew he had to get away, see them just once more, whether they wanted to see him or not. Making it against all the pain and agony, Harry kicks his legs, pushing with all his might alongside the urge to let go. He manages to force himself up, sliding forward.

Harry’s slumping with each move, but the vision of escaping, of getting away from the horrid person behind him keeps him moving. He hears him before he sees him, but he suddenly grabs the back of Harry's head. Harry cries out in surprise, but then it's only searing pain. He hears the echo of his head against the cement, and then he can only see darkness as thick liquid drips down into his eyes, blinding him.

Harry shakes and trembles, his body fighting, and he groans nonsensical words. Harry wants to die then, escape the unbearable agony of the boy beating him up. Sean laughs above him and reaches forward, shoving Harry’s open head-wound back against the cement. He groans, limp as the pain registers in his head. Everything hurts, and it’s too much to keep track of it all. Harry feels overwhelmed with the want to give up. If he’d quit torturing him and get it over with, maybe he could drift off to the dream of Louis and Niall. It’s then that he drifts off, unable to cope a moment longer, giving into all he deserves.

Everything hurts, the only thing Harry can register as he slowly wakes. He tries to open his eyes, but something is keeping them shut. Harry feels like crying again but can’t remember why. He moves his arm, pushing slightly to ease himself on his side. The movement jostles his stomach, and it’s only a moment before he begins to vomit, the bile running over him when he’s too weak to lift his head. His eyes don’t open, and he is gone before he attempts to wipe his mouth.

He can hear people talking, moving about, but Harry can’t tell how close they are. He feels the fear, the terror of people, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Harry shifts, moving slowly, and then stops, recalling the vomiting episode. He moves his hand gently towards his face, and he grimaces at the chunks still lingering on his skin. He manages onto his back but cries out in pain as his head lands roughly on the pavement, and he suddenly remembers how he got there.

Harry moves slowly, his tears flowing as he moves slowly back into the corner of the alley. He manages to scoot into the space between the dumpster and the alley's corner. It’s dark and away from the light. His left eye is open a tiny slit, his right unable to at all. When he's finally in the corner, his back against the brick wall, he begins openly to sob, everything still hurting and he's so lost.

He can remember the night before in bits and pieces, and his body is in agony, each part hurting worse than the previous. Harry tries to blink away the tears, each drop stinging against his tough skin. He reaches a shaking hand to his face, tenderly touching himself, but the skin is so swollen, it's nearly unrecognizable. His eyelashes are stuck together, the flakes falling as he brushes against them.

At the touch of his head, he instantly winces, and when he pulls his hand away, he can see his fingers stained red. Harry thinks of a doctor but can't bear the thought of telling someone what happened to him. He knows he deserved everything coming to him, and the idea of someone knowing, really knowing, makes him nauseous again. He gingerly leans his head back and closes his eyes fully, forcing himself into a hazy sleep.

When Harry awakes again, he finds himself surrounded by darkness. His head throbs, but he feels light, and it's harder to keep his eyes open. Shifting carefully, Harry can tell his legs are numb from the position, but only causes his stomach to clench in pain. The sharp pains make it hard for him to breathe, so he stays still. His head leans to the side, falling against the side of the metal dumpster. He lies still for a long time, fearing every sound he hears but doesn't move, praying he's safe from prying eyes.

Harry comes to the sound of screaming around him. His body shakes, and he can't curl into himself as he wants to. It hurts to move even his hands. His head throbs against the pounding of his heart, and tears slip down his face, but he can't lift a finger to wipe them away. The voices grow louder, but he can't open his eyes to find somewhere to hide, he's so weak, and everything hurts. He needs to sleep.

"Harry," he hears him, but Harry can't smile. He feels the guilt in the pit of his stomach, knowing his mind is thinking of Niall again. "Oh, Christ, Harry," Harry hears the lovely sound again, the one he loves so much. Harry can almost feel his fingers in his own and wants to smile, but can't, doesn't move, falling back to sleep instead. He drifts off and away, letting go of all that’s keeping to the ground.


	7. Part Six

Harry wakes with a scream, feeling hands all over him, reaching, touching, and he can't fight them off. The protests sting as they leave his throat, and he thrashes, each movement of his arms hurting worse than before. He quickly weakens, but he wants to get away, but they won't stop. They're everywhere, poking and prodding, until Harry feels light once again, lifelessly drifting away.

He awakes with a start, his body throbbing, and he feels the tight tremor of his hands against his sides. Fingers slide against him, and he jerks, his eyes fighting to open. It’s hurting, the first clench of the light against him. His eyes water instantly, the tears stinging as they drip down the sides of his face.

“Harry, thank God, you’re awake,” Harry tries to tilt his head to find the sound, but it’s impossible. He can only move a tiny bit before a whimper of pain escapes his throat. He takes several slow breaths until he’s able to control some of the sensations.

“Hello,” he speaks questioningly, his voice hoarse, and it’s difficult to release. Harry’s hesitation grows as he feels the pressure against the side of the bed but instantly relaxes as Niall’s face comes into view.

Harry stares for several moments, not sure how to react. Despite his runaway thoughts for weeks on end, his mind is clear. There’s nothing to say to Niall, and Harry suddenly wants him to leave. He’s a reminder of everything wrong, everything that messed Harry up.

“Hurts,” Harry mumbles when no other words come out. Niall brushes his thumb along Harry’s knuckles, and Harry closes his eyes for several moments, taking in touch. He opens them when Niall hasn’t moved, his eyes finding his.

“S’alright,” Niall says softly, gently, as though his eyes aren’t swimming with emotion. Harry stares up at him, his right eye barely open, but he can see Niall trying not to cry.

“You found me?” Harry manages to say, but the words are rough, jumbled together as they leave his lips. Niall shakes his head, dropping his gaze.

“They called me when you got here,” he says after a moment. Niall’s hand tightens around Harry’s fingers when he speaks again, “I just got here a bit ago; they said you’d be out a lot longer.”

Harry stares up at him, fighting the urge to cry. He wants to know what they told him but can’t bear to ask the question. Niall starts to, dropping his gaze when his tears become too much, but Harry knows. He closes his eyes, wanting to drift back to sleep, but Niall stops him.

“I called the nurse… don’t know why they aren’t here yet,” he says after a moment. Harry’s eyes open as wide as they can, the pain searing through his head, but his focus on whoever they might be. They’re coming, and they’re going to tell Niall what happened to him, tell him everything.

“Nurse,” Harry says wearily. He wants to sit up, but it hurts to move his hand, let alone his entire body.

Several people enter the room a few moments later, their voices loud, but Harry doesn’t tilt his head. Niall’s hand finds him again, and this time Harry’s relieved.

“Harry,” a man speaks, “how are you feeling?”

“Hurts,” he mumbles. The doctor moves out of Harry’s view and speaks, but Harry can’t hear. He wants to sleep again, to hide away, but the doctor is coming back into contention.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asks, but Harry responds with a quick no, unwilling to rehash any of it. It’s all happening too quickly, and it hurts too bad to find a good lie. He wants Louis again; he always knew what to say. The doctor speaks, and Harry has to force himself to listen, “I’m gonna tell you what I know, yeah?”

“Okay,” Harry whispers, the night running through his mind, and several tears slip from his eyes.

“I know you got quite a gash above your right eye. Took fourteen stitches to close it up. Two stitches on your right ring finger, and we bandaged fingers on both hands. Among other things, a lot of scrapes and bruises along the rest of your body.”

“Okay,” Harry repeats, struggling to keep from crying. He’s waiting for the worst news, knowing what he’s about to find, what he knows will reveal it all.

“We want to finish our examination. Can we do that now?” Harry shakes his head, but the man continues, “Only what you want us to, but we need to assess other injuries.”

“Just you,” Harry murmurs, taking his hand from Niall’s hand. He hears whispers and forces his head to turn towards the door despite the pain it causes. He meets Niall’s gaze, and he stops, walking back to him. Niall’s voice is firm in his ear.

“I’m right here,” Niall says softly, his fingers around Harry’s forearm, firm and dipping into the skin. “I’ll be right outside, right there.”

“Stay,” Harry squeezes his eyes shut as he breathes the word. Niall nods, his breath thick, relief strong as it brushes along Harry’s skin.

“The police are going to come in when I’m done,” Harry immediately shakes his head, stuttering out of Niall’s hold. The doctor speaks again, and Harry screams, his voice impossibly loud, and the echoes shatter his skull. His body is shaking, trembling beyond repair, and Harry can’t handle it. The night comes back to him, and he’s reliving it as he scrambles from the bed.

“Harry, please,” Niall grabs at him, and Harry curls away, his body protesting every moment, but he can’t let them take him.

Harry hears another voice, a familiar one. Then arms are grabbing him, fingers pulling, and his pants are wet, but Harry refuses to be retaken. There’s a sound in his ear, singing, and Harry knows the song. Harry knows the voice. He slows, his aching body slowing, and his mouth closes until he’s only whimpering. Harry feels their arms wrap around him and tense but opens his eyes to find Louis’ staring back at him. Harry begins to cry, his body shaking and sobbing until he can’t cry anymore.

“It’s okay,” Louis whispers, and Harry can hear him now, “just relax,” Louis hums the song again, and Harry nods, responding to him.

“Don’t let them,” Harry hiccups, barely able to speak through the quick gasps of air escaping his throat. “Please,” he begs Louis. Louis stares for a long time but nods, his hands gripping Harry harder, so hard it’s painful, but Harry can’t bear the thought of him letting go.

“Let them see you,” Louis whispers. Harry shakes his head, but Louis forces his head back up, his eyes meeting Louis’ all over again, “Let them.” Harry nods, closing his eyes as his hands drop to his lap, and he starts to cry as he realizes his pants are damp.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispers, his body trembling with the pain. “Oh, God, Louis, I’m so sorry,” he cries, his head falling lightly against Louis’ chest, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.”

“Let me help you,” Louis’ voice pleads in Harry's ear, and he can’t help but listen. He can’t say no, though he had so many times before. He can’t say no to Louis anymore. “Let’s stand,” he whispers, but Harry shakes his head.

“It hurts, Lou,” Harry whispers. Louis nods, and he knows he understands. It’s much more than the marks on his body.

“I know,” Louis speaks gently, “but we’re going to make it better… you have to help me, though, understand?” Harry shakes his head, starting to cry all over again. He just wants it all to end, for everything to go away.

Louis brings his arms underneath Harry’s armpits, and with little resistance, pulls Harry up to stand. Harry keeps his head against Louis, knowing he’s protecting him, keeping from people seeing. Harry sniffles against Louis, and an arm comes around his back, pulling him close; and Harry breathes a sigh, trying to stay calm, but he can’t anymore.

“We need new pants,” Louis murmurs, and Harry immediately tears in shame, knowing he’s talking to the doctor. “Get him a gown,” Louis keeps talking, and Harry wants to shake his head but can’t. He wants the power to let go, but he can’t.

“Help me,” Harry whispers, his voice disappearing, and he knows it’s because he had another episode, only vaguely remembering screaming. Louis hums against his ear, and Harry can feel his wet pants moving from his waist and dropping to the floor.

“This is wet,” Louis says gently, and Harry closes his eyes as Louis cleans him, his arms lifeless at his sides. Tears fall down his cheeks, and he won’t lift his gaze. He can’t meet Louis’ eyes. “Hey,” Louis speaks, but Harry won’t lift his head, “it’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry breathes, the words barely escaping through his thickened lips. His breath escapes in short stutters as he fights to control his tears, but he can’t stop the first sob that escapes. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” he cries softly.

“No, you’re not,” Louis says urgently. The cloth drops against the bed, and then Louis’ hands are on Harry’s face, forcing him to meet Louis’ gaze. “Harry, look at me,” he nods, slowly lifting his eyes, meeting Louis, “you’re sick, Haz, I’m sorry, but you are… but we’re going to make you better.”

“I’m cold,” Harry whispers. Louis chuckles darkly, and Harry shivers when the damp cloth moves across his skin again. Harry’s hands move to Louis’ shoulders and holds him as Louis dries his wet skin.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, his voice tensing as though he’s hurt, and Harry’s chest clenches at the sound, glancing at him. He meets Louis’ eyes and suddenly wishes he hadn’t, “let them examine you.”

“Pants,” Harry pleads, shaking his head. Louis stares at him, his eyes boring into Harry, but he can’t let them see his body. “Please, Lou,” Harry begs, “Please.”

“Let them,” Louis whispers, his hands moving to cup Harry’s cheeks, and his eyes fill with tears, matching the ones already fallen down Harry’s cheeks. “Please, let them.”

“I can’t,” he shakes, his body on the edge of urgency, but Louis isn’t backing down. His Louis would have before, but this Louis is different, and Harry doesn’t know what to do.

“I need you to,” Louis speaks, and the first tear falls down his cheek. Louis turns their bodies, and he scoots back on the bed, where Harry had been lying, and Harry climbs on top of him, where he urges.

“Let them,” Louis whispers when his lips are against Harry’s ear, and Harry trembles worse than before. His body is bare, but he knows what he’s allowing. He starts to cry again, as though he had stopped earlier, and the hands begin to touch him.

“Listen to me,” Louis speaks into Harry’s ear, and Harry can feel the damp drops slipping onto his skin as Louis whispers against him. His body shakes, and he fears falling from Louis’ grasp, but Louis isn’t letting go. Harry’s eyes close tight, and he listens to Louis, silently pleading with him never to stop.

The doctor speaks, but Harry can’t hear him. He needs to listen to Louis; he needs to hear his voice. Harry can’t handle the alternative. His body jerks as pain sears through him, and he openly sobs against Louis’ shoulder. Louis hums began to break apart, and his hands are impossibly tight around Harry, gripping his sore skin. Harry realizes Louis is crying too, feeling as sorry as Harry does for himself. The thought makes Harry cry harder.

“I’m sorry,” Harry begins to cry, repeating the words as the hands continue to touch, pressing and marking with tape that sticks to his skin. “Make it stop,” he whispers, “Please, please make it stop.”

“Just relax,” Louis speaks softly, his voice thick and broken in Harry’s ear.

“I won’t run again,” Harry cries into Louis, the hands continuing to touch and prod, marking everything he’d tried to keep a secret. “I won’t leave. I’ll listen, I swear, please.” Louis’ body is shaking beneath Harry’s, and he’s terrified Louis will let go. Harry grips him, holding on with everything he has left.

“Okay, okay,” Louis says after a long while. Despite his aching body, Harry turns and scrambles for the trousers, Louis helping them over his legs. “Just calm down,” he murmurs when Harry doesn’t stop pulling when they’re already up.

“No more,” Harry says softly, curling into Louis’ lap. Louis moves his fingers through Harry’s matted hair, and he closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling. “No more,” he whispers, closing his eyes, letting the soft brush of fingertips takes the hurt away.

Harry wakes, the screams filling his ears as he kicks him, touching where Harry didn’t want, hurting him repeatedly. He screams, pleads, and begs him to stop, the blood dripping, but he doesn’t let up. Harry scrambles, tries to fight and get away, but he won’t stop, keeps pulling and grappling at his skin. He needs to fight, to find Louis, but then his hands are around his neck, and he’s fading. His screams are fading into nothing.

“Harry!” Harry’s eyes open wide, a scream leaving his throat as he stares at Louis. His body jerks and he flips around, trying to make sense, searching for him, but he’s gone. His hands reach to his legs, and he grimaces at the dampened pants. He can’t make sense of anything.

“Where is he?” Harry whispers, his voice frantic. Louis closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they’re red, as though Louis is about to cry. “What’d I do?” Harry breathes, his heart rate fading in his confusion.

“Nothing, you did nothing,” Louis says gently, pulling Harry towards him, but Harry resists. He pulls away from Louis, sitting on the damp spot on the bed, as though he could hide it.

“We’ll get you changed,” Louis says gently, but Harry shakes his head shamefully. Louis shouldn’t be fixing him anymore because he can’t. No one can fix him anymore. He knows that now.

“I need help,” Harry says softly, his eyes lifting to Louis, feeling like a small child, “don’t I?” Louis nods sadly, and Harry bites his lip, nodding as he looks down to his wet lap.

“I can’t help you,” Louis speaks hesitantly, and Harry listens but can’t look up, can’t hear the words, “I want to, I tried, I really did, but I can’t help you.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry sucks in a breath, “for everything.”

“’S’not your fault,” Louis responds, his hand taking Harry’s, pulling him, but Harry continues to resist. “We’ll find you a good place to go,” Louis says hesitantly, and Harry lifts his head at that.

“I have to go away?” he whispers, his eyes are quickly filling with tears. Louis nods, dropping his head, and Harry can’t respond. “I want to stay here,” he whispers, feeling insolent.

“Why?” Louis speaks, but Harry doesn’t answer, not fully knowing why. Louis pulls his arm again, and this time, Harry does respond, curling his head back into Louis’ lap.

“Why are you here?” Harry dares to ask, unsure if he’s going to stay. Louis chuckles and softly pats Harry’s cheek, his fingers brushing it gently.

“Sleep,” he whispers, “we’ll clean you up later.” Harry nods and drifts, relishing the feel of Louis’ fingers on his skin again, ignoring the fears igniting his bones.

Louis keeps his promise and wakes Harry before another nightmare, forcing him to clean and wash, with Louis’ help. Afterward, he has to talk to the police. Harry lets the evidence the doctor collected go to them, upon Louis’ insistence. He doesn’t leave his arms, refusing to admit his unrelenting fear, but Louis doesn’t pull away, and Harry can’t process what that means.

Although officially admitted to the hospital, Harry refuses to see the others, but the only one he regrets is Niall. Harry can’t bear to face him, though, not with him knowing, anyone knowing what might’ve happened to him. He stays away from his phone, stays away from everyone, fearing the truth. He can’t handle much more than he has, and knowing he’s going to have to leave is the most he can process.

“Okay,” Louis whispers, and Harry nods against him. His tears are slowing, another nightmare, reliving the moments he desperately wants to forget, “it’s okay.” Harry shakes and tremors, fighting to calm, but it only makes it worse. Louis begins to sing his song, and Harry closes his eyes, getting lost in it, but when he opens them, they’re no longer alone.

“Who are you?” Harry speaks gently, his hand roughly wiping at his eyes. He looks to Louis, whose eyes are filled with guilt, and Harry wants to pull away but doesn’t.

“I’m Monica,” the woman speaks. She’s petite, dark hair pulled back into a bun, though her jeans and t-shirt do nothing for her figure, Harry thinks. “I’m here from-”

“Louis?” Harry whispers helplessly, fearing the truth. Louis simply nods, and Harry sucks in a breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I chose for you,” Louis speaks gently, his hands moving across Harry’s arms, but he doesn’t feel comforted. He jerks away but doesn’t move far. He can’t. “I had to choose,” Louis whispers, and Harry closes his eyes, once again ignoring the conversation Louis had been trying to have for days. “They’ve discharged you,” Louis says gently, and Harry shakes his head in disbelief.

“I’m from Sherry Knoll’s,” the woman speaks again, “you’re going to come with me… I’ve spoken with Louis, and he’s going to take you downstairs with us.”

“Lou, please,” Harry starts to cry again. It’s different this time, different because he knows Louis is right. He’s not sure which hurts more, knowing he’s the one leaving Louis or the thought of coming back alone.

“Please, Haz, please do this,” Louis pleads, and Harry feels helpless. He crawls into Louis’ lap and wraps his arms tightly around his neck, holding on for whatever moments they have left.

“Don’t leave me,” Harry whispers, and despite the lack of Louis’ answer, he knows he understands. Harry starts to shake, and he knows he can’t do it by himself. “Don’t leave me,” he repeats, but the reassurance doesn’t come.

“You’re leaving me,” Louis assures him, “and it’s okay… this is going to be okay.”

“Everyone’s going to know,” Harry says after a moment, his cheeks damp as he pulls from Louis’ shoulder. “They’ll know my secret.”

“No, I won’t tell a soul,” Louis whispers, his voice filling Harry, “I promise this time, no one will know.” Harry nods, and he sees Monica stand out of the corner of his eye. His hands grip Louis’ hands, and he needs more time, just a few more moments. Everything feels strained, and he doesn’t know if he can hold on, not without Louis.

“Lou,” Harry tries again, but it’s in vain, and he knows it is. He’s still in his pajamas, but he realizes where he’s going. It’s not going to matter. The tears fall thickly down his cheeks until he can’t see clearly, and he grips harder, not daring to let go.

“Soon enough, you won’t need me anymore,” Louis presses his lips to Harry’s cheeks, slowly kissing away his tears, “and that’s how you’ll know you’re okay.”

“I’ll always need you,” Harry pleads, but Louis shakes his head, pulling back. Monica’s holding something, and Harry glances to see his bag. He looks to Louis, confused.

“I had Niall pack it for you,” Louis explains, but Harry can’t respond, not without sobbing. Harry’s trembling, his entire body shaking, and he can’t leave.

Harry watches as Louis eases the shoes on his feet, weak as he pulls the jacket over his arms, Louis’ fingers smoothing the wrinkles. A beanie covers his hair, and Harry closes his eyes when Louis slides the sunglasses over his face. They bring a wheelchair, and Harry sits, tears slipping beneath the glasses to cover his cheeks.

Louis pushes the chair, and Harry reaches, his hand over Louis’ wrist, but as they go through the door, voices around him, he can’t hold on. He can’t let them see. He knows Louis is right, and Harry shakes his head, trying to ease the thoughts. He desperately wants Louis to be wrong. He doesn’t want to go, doesn’t know what’s left to hold onto.

Harry’s head falls and closes in on himself as they move forward, onto an elevator and out towards the main door. There’s no one around, and Harry doesn’t know how Louis has kept it a secret, but he has. Harry fights it, wants to run, but he doesn’t because Louis is holding onto the wheelchair. He wants to hide but can’t because Louis is right there, and he can’t hide from him anymore.

When they reach the van, Sherry’s Knoll written across the side in thick red letters, Harry doesn’t know how to cope. He can’t breathe beneath his tight chest, his stomach clenching, and he fears he might throw up. The wheelchair stops, but Harry can’t stand, can’t take a step away from Louis. Monica reaches but Harry jerks from her, clenching the side of the chair.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs, gently easing Harry’s grip and pulling him to stand. Harry immediately flings himself into Louis’ hold, needing their final moments to take him in. Harry closes his eyes and breathes, takes everything Louis gives him and more, once again knowing it’s more than he can ever return.

When there’s no more time, Louis pulls, slowly easing Harry’s hands from his waist. Harry resists but eventually drops his arms. His eyes lift to Louis, who he can see is crying through his dark shades. Harry wants to wipe his tears but doesn’t know how, he never did. He can’t say the words, and Louis doesn’t either, but eventually, he takes the step backward, moving towards the van.

Louis stands still, his eyes on Harry, and Harry moves backward until he has to stop, the moment before he has to face away from Louis. He doesn’t know how to say goodbye, he never had to before, but he knows he never wants to do it again. Words tickle his throat, but Harry doesn’t speak. With a final breath, Harry turns from Louis, and closing his eyes, he steps into the van, his only goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one part left!


	8. Finale

Louis hears about it before he actually sees it on Twitter. He knows from Niall that Harry’s out, but he’s kept his distance, giving the younger male space to reach out when he’s ready. But when he receives the text from Harry, Louis realizes he’s not prepared for it at all.

_ Louis. I’m home. _

It’s all he can say, and Louis doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. It’s not until a week later, lost in a meeting with management about his new album, that Louis realizes who all his songs are about. Deep down, he knows who he’s been writing about. Still, looking over the songs he’d chosen, he knows each one is about his boy. And Louis knows what he needs to do.

Harry’s been with Niall, staying there since leaving Sherry’s Knoll a few months prior, but Louis hasn’t been able to see him. Truthfully, he started therapy shortly after Harry’s departure, lost in everything that happened and the guilt that followed. He’d failed desperately at keeping Harry safe. Louis had broken up with him, given up when Harry needed his support. But he knows from Niall that Harry is strong now. He’s recovering and may never be perfect, but still Louis’ boy, through and through.

It's late in the evening when he arrives at Niall’s doorstep, and when he sees the blonde-haired boy, they don’t say a word. Niall simply lets him inside. Louis goes in but is stuck at the doorway when he hears Harry’s timid voice, though it’s stronger than he’s heard since the days when they began. He sounds more confident, sure of what he’s saying, instead of scared of it all.

“Ni- who is…?” he trails off when Louis sees him, their eyes locking, and it’s all it takes. Louis is rushing forward and, without permission, pulls Harry into his arms. There’s no longer a weak versus strong persona. This is simply his precious boy in his arms again, and Louis knows it isn’t fair to Harry after the radio silence. But he can’t pull away.

“Harry,” Louis whispers against his ear, and Harry is tugging him in, holding him tightly. And Niall is there, but Louis can have this with his boy in another’s presence for the first time. He’s overwhelmed, and without meaning to, relieved tears fill his eyes. He pulls back, cupping Harry’s cheeks, and stares at him.

“I’m okay,” Harry says softly, staring with the same emotions swirling in those beautiful green eyes, and Louis smiles. “I have something to tell you.”

“What?” Louis asks, fearful that he’s taken too long to come around. Perhaps Harry’s moved on, but the way he’s held so tightly, somehow he knows that’s not what it is.

“I’m gay, Lou,” he whispers, daring to speak the words aloud, and Louis realizes how much he needed to hear him say it. Louis closes his eyes and leans forward, resting his forehead against Harry’s, sighing with an unimaginable amount of relief.

“I know,” Louis dares to whisper back, and he can feel Harry nod against him. He pulls back enough to meet Harry’s gaze, and he’s crying, his body trembling. Louis feels the fear again. The instant he’s done something wrong but Harry’s smiling through it.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says softly, staring so profoundly, and Louis can’t look away, “For everything. I was so messed up… I’m working on it, though.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks because his mind is blank. There’s so much to say, but he’s at a loss. Words have gone with Harry in his arms again. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I gave up. I should’ve—”

“No. No, don’t do that,” Harry says, interrupting him with a shake of his head, “You couldn’t have helped me. I was too messed up.”

“You’re okay now?” Louis asks, voice low, but he needs to know.

“I’m getting there,” he says and leans into Louis, his arms wrapping around his middle and holds him impossibly tight. Louis glances to see Niall watching and then turns back to Harry. “I’m getting there,” Harry repeats the words, and Louis is lost in the relief.

“We’ll help you,” Louis says because he knows already how much Niall has done. He’d taken the lead when Louis couldn’t, but he knows he can’t step back any longer. This is it for him.

“I have to help myself first,” Harry whispers and pulls back. He tugs Louis by the hand, leading him further into the home and into a bedroom. Louis looks around and can see so much of his old Harry inside there, making him smile at the sight.

“I’m still nervous a lot,” Harry says, breaking the silence. It causes Louis to refocus his attention on the other, nodding his head to show he’s listening. “Therapy twice a week. Group therapy. A bit of medication, but they’re weaning me off it. But I’m okay now.”

“I was so scared,” Louis admits, unable to help himself now, feeling that he’s able to actually talk to Harry for the first time in so long. “I wanted to fix you.”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says with a shake of his head, “I wanted you to fix me too. I think that’s where things got so messed up.”

“I’m sorry I sent you away,” Louis is the one trembling now, admitting more than he has to anyone outside of his own therapist. “I’ve been in therapy too.”

“I’m not sorry,” Harry says, and Louis is taken aback, unsure what to do with that information, “You fixed me in the only way you could. You got me help, Lou. I needed it. I needed it so much, but it wasn’t until that night that I realized how fucked up my thinking was.”

“God, Harry,” Louis starts to say, but tears fill his eyes, and he can’t hold back. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” Harry whispers, and he reaches out, and Louis leans in, resting his head against Harry’s chest. He’s cried over this many times in therapy, sometimes at night, but there with Harry, Louis begins to release all he’s kept private. “It’s okay now,” Harry is holding him when he’s held onto the boy for so long. Now it’s his turn, and Louis doesn’t know how to piece this together.

Louis lifts his head after a while and can see Harry’s been crying too, but he doesn’t need Louis to hold him and make him calm down now. He knows Harry is still his, he can feel it all over, but this is new. They have to start fresh, entirely from scratch. He has to discover this Harry, replacing the ill one that existed before. Harry is still not perfect, but Louis knows he can’t expect him to be.

Harry shifts back on the bed, resting against the headboard, and Louis follows his movements. Fear and hesitation linger in both of their actions, but somehow they find each other's arms again, and Louis is curled into him as though no time has passed. It’s over a year after Louis sent Harry away, but the need for each other is still there, the desire for trust and happiness. It’s no longer just himself, but Harry can provide for him, too.

“I love you, Lou. Always have. Always will,” Harry says softly, breaking the silence. It’s been quiet for hours, neither sleeping nor rushing to make up for the time they’ve had apart. Louis lifts his head, and without holding back another moment, he kisses his boy. The brush of his lips against Harry’s is a needed relief, but nothing compares to the way Harry kisses back. There’s no dread, no reluctance, and Harry kisses him as though he can’t imagine doing anything else.

“I love you, too,” Louis can whisper, for the first time believing Harry’s heard it. All the time spent in darkness and Harry’s found a light, and Louis can finally see it. He can see how this new Harry will be. The scars will always be etched into his skin, but he’s allowing Louis in. He’s letting him see Harry, and for the first time, they have the same vision. Hope. A future. And real, true love. And that’s all Louis needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This story has been years in the making, but I cannot thank everyone enough for their support and love for this. I want to thank @fallingforyou for beating this chapter for me and fixing all my stupid errors. And to everyone who's read and asked for more since I started it. This is the finale. The final chapter to this story and I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you. Sincerely. 
> 
> D

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the love!!


End file.
